


THE BEST LAID PLANS

by mabb5



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M, GEN VERSION: The Best Laid Plans, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 138,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabb5/pseuds/mabb5
Summary: SUMMARY:The crew of the Enterprise D try to find their way after their ship crashed on Veridian III. This is the first of two massive alternate universe novels about the possibilities of change in duty, life and love.This is a GEN version reposting of THE BEST LAID PLANS novel.  You can find the original, adult version under author listing for mabb5.





	1. Merde!

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: And now for something completely different… I have re-edited my adult novel, THE BEST LAID PLANS which can be found under the “Mabb5" author listings, to this Gen version of the same novel. This was the first story that I had ever posted, so I have cleaned up things a bit.
> 
> It was suggested to me by a reader, a while back, that I should also post a gen version of my more adult fiction. So that is what I am doing. Except for some toned down elements, this version is the same as my original adult novel.
> 
> Though this is a gen version of an adult novel, it is still PG13. There are adult themes in the love scenes, as well as in the plot. The sex or the violence is no longer graphic. But it is still part of the story.
> 
> Please note that this alternate universe has nothing to do with my other major TNG novel ATTACHED MEANT and its sequels called DE-TACHED and DETACHED: JEAN-LUC, HIS STORY That novel (etc.) is strictly P/C and is more character oriented. It is not as graphic though when it comes to the sex scenes.
> 
> I always knew that Jean-Luc and Beverly were meant to be together. But clearly, there were issues and interludes with other people that was between them. But once you get to the end of the second novel, they are together at the end. But as for the in between, well, I had this plot. You know what happens to writers when the "what ifs?" take hold of their brains. All of the other characters I cared about - Will, Deanna, Tom, Worf, Laren, Geordi, Data, Reg, Leah, Lwaxana, Nella, etc. -had parts to play too. So it took me about 20 years to write this romantic dramedy, for both THE BEST LAID PLANS and its sequel, THE SKY IS THE LIMIT, are complete. And they have been successfully revised and posted on fanfic as well as ao3.
> 
> Be advised that certain characters are paired with different lovers here and there, but in the end, all do end up as they should. There is some violence done to major characters. No deaths of major characters, though. There is the occasional four letter word, but they are rare and appropriate for the situation - at least, I think so. 
> 
> So, please feed the writer. Comments are appreciated.
> 
> STAR TREK is Paramount’s property but fandom’s playground. The usual disclaimers apply.
> 
> Revised September 2016

THE BEST LAID PLANS:  
THE GEN VERSION  
CHAPTER 1:  
Merde!

=/\= =/\= =/\=

"Merde!"

He cut the picture off of his sub-space terminal. The weary gentleman took a deep breath, continued to ignore his cup of tea by the edge of the desk, glanced about the book-cluttered small room of the cottage that he'd converted into his office, and then counted to ten in both Klingonese and ancient Greek. Now he was ready to resume his conversation with one Ensign Steck of Starfleet Command, Bureau of Travel, Earth Division.

His formal demeanor revived, he restored his communication to Starfleet Headquarters.

"Forgive the break, Ensign Steck."

"Of course, Sir."

The middle-aged Vulcan ensign was polite and unwavering in his attitude. For the Vulcan, this call was but one more disruption to his precisely plotted work schedule, for which he had factored in probabilities of such communications from officers such as Picard.

"As I was saying, Ensign, I wish to arrange passage to Gaudete II, in the Alawanir Nebula."

"I know where, Sir," the ensign mentioned.

"As soon as possible."

"Sir, I need more information before I may grant your request."

"Ensign…"

A Terran officer might have responded to the icy timbre to Picard's voice. Steck however, duly noted the apparent rise of emotional response by this caller, made the decision to record this observation in his duty log, and then blinked.

"Is this trip for Starfleet, Sir?"

"Not exactly, Ensign."

The ensign blinked again, as he made another note in his log.

"Sir, Starfleet regulations prohibits use of a Federation vessel by an officer of any rank, for travel on business not specifically related to Starfleet or without express permission from your superior officer, which is Rear-Admiral Alynna Nechayev, I believe." The ensign made another jot on his padd.

Picard spoke quickly before the ensign proceeded to read aloud more of the official list of Starfleet travel regulations.

"Ensign Steck…" He tried to sound completely reasonable, and appear to be totally logical in his request. "My research, that is my potential research, could be of significant archaeological importance. If the excavations on Gaudete II fulfill their preliminary promises, the Daystrom Institute will receive all of my notes and discoveries. Naturally, this would then make it Starfleet business.

"Nevertheless, Sir, you are currently not involved with any project that falls within the purview of Starfleet. Therefore, your request can only be classified as a request of a personal, non- Starfleet nature."

Picard interrupted the Vulcan, again. "Ensign, I still hold the rank of captain in Starfleet."

"I know that, Sir. Charges were dismissed against you and Commander Riker after the crash of the USS Enterprise 1701-D. You were not court-martialed."

Picard was beginning to find the Vulcan to be infuriatingly civil. He tugged down his blue sweater, more out of habit than the need to smooth his civilian clothing. He was striving to retain his calm.

"I merely wish to exercise the privilege of my rank. I am not asking that you re-route a ship for my convenience. I am simply requesting that you arrange transportation for me, by whatever currently scheduled and available means, whether it be by a Galaxy-class ship or Oberth-class ship or an Antares-class cargo carrier."

"Yes, Sir."

"Can you do it, Ensign?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now we're getting somewhere," Picard muttered to himself. "Then do it, Ensign," he sternly ordered, formally.

"I cannot, Sir." He made another notation on his padd. "Will there be anything else, Sir?" The Vulcan wished to end this conversation since the projected allotted time for such conversations had almost expired.

This time Picard did not bother to hide his rising irritation with this Vulcan. "Ensign, you just stated that you can make the arrangements."

"Yes, Sir."

"Then why won't you comply with my order?"

"You are not currently on active duty status, Sir. According to Starfleet regulations, only active Starfleet personnel may request credit-free passage on Starfleet vessels. There are exceptions for personnel on leave which required that the request concern official Starfleet business, a personal emergency or extension of compassionate leave."

"Ensign Steck, I am on leave."

"No, Sir. You are on a voluntary leave of absence…"

"…at Woody Nakamura's request…" Picard muttered somewhat audibly.

"…And that is not the same as being on leave," Steck continued, not acknowledging Picard's uttered comment. "If I may quote Starfleet directive one-eighty-four-dash-seven…"

"I know the regulations, Ensign."

"Then you know that I cannot help you." The Vulcan paused then asked, "If you know the regulations, Sir, why did you ask?"

Picard took another breath before he answered the Vulcan. "Ensign, for at least the past two centuries, Starfleet officers with the rank of Full Commander or higher, have enjoyed the praxis of passage on Starfleet vessels regardless of their duty status. Being an ensign, and I am assuming new to your post, perhaps you are unaware of this practice."

"It is not in my regulations, Captain."

"There are numerous such usages that have yet to be formally ruled, Ensign. This is one of them. Ask any admiral."

Picard hoped that this Vulcan was not so dense that he wouldn't heed Picard's non-verbal warning about the privileges of rank and office.

Almost since the very beginning of Starfleet, senior officers had become accustomed to certain perks. More than one Admiral on occasion, had turned a Federation starship into his own personal pleasure ship for a side jaunt or two. Starfleet captains were used to going anywhere they wished on Starfleet vessels, regardless of their reasons. It was a courtesy from one captain to another. A captain's ranking in the unofficial pecking order of Starfleet was determined by the type of ship he or she captained. The more important the ship, the greater the favor to be owed.

Ever since he had attained the rank of captain, Picard had availed himself of such travel privileges, albeit rarely. Normally he had his own ship to take him where he needed to go, or at least put him near the vicinity of his destination.

But now, with the Enterprise lost, and not knowing what or if his next command would ever be, Picard had taken a leave of absence. More than one admiral had politely suggested that he do it. And Picard had uncharacteristically complied for there were personal issues he needed to address from the aftermath of Robert and Rene's death, to resolving at last his relationship with a certain flame-haired doctor.

However, a Vulcan with the soul of a bureaucrat, was not about to be distracted from the strict performance of his perceived official Starfleet duty.

"Is there anything else, Captain?"

Knowing he was being dismissed by a lackey, heroically refraining from telling the ensign his opinion of a bureaucrat, Picard asked, "Could you please give me a list of both civilian and Starfleet vessels available that could take me to the Gaudete system?"

The ensign immediately thought of at least four regulations that stated he was not required to comply with Captain Picard's request. However, he'd dealt with enough of these emotional humans to know when to accede. For he had grasped some of the nuances of this captain's statements.

"You will have the ship itineraries," Steck quickly calculated, "within two point four hours, Captain Picard. Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you, Ensign."

"Sir."

"And Ensign, thank you for your cooperation."

Wondering if this was yet another example of human sarcasm, the ensign accepted the words at face value. "Steck out."

Picard clicked off his terminal, then noticed the time. Beverly would be off duty soon. And then she would be in her shuttlecraft coming home to Caldos, coming home to him. A month ago, he knew exactly how he'd have felt about Beverly returning to him. Joy would have been the dominant emotion. Today, his sentiments were far more turbulent and complex.

When they'd come to Caldos to live together in the cottage that Beverly had inherited from her grandmother, Beverly had decided that she'd take the CMO position at Starbase 24, one of the oldest active starbases of the Federation. It was also the closest Starfleet operation to Caldos, only a mere eighty-five minutes away by sub-light travel in her shuttlecraft. Having her own personal shuttlecraft had been part of the deal for Beverly's acceptance of the Starbase post.

Jean-Luc on the other hand, had decided to enjoy his leave of absence by working on a local archaeological dig, catching up on his reading, and finding the time to do all the things during the day that busy starship captains just never had time to do.

As for what he did at night, this schedule was subject solely to Beverly's wishes whenever she was home.

Beverly chose to work a four-day-on, four-day-off rotating shift in order to have the time for Jean-Luc. Her schedule had once seemed important to both of them.

Now, Jean-Luc cynically wondered, what was the point. All of the old issues that had built the fortress walls between them, when he'd been captain of the Enterprise, and even before then, still existed. For a while, their physical desires had been enough to surmount that wall. But, bitter reality had returned. Things were not working out.

He stood, and picked up his untouched, cold mug of Earl Grey, and placed it in the kitchen sink, reflecting upon his current way of living. When he'd come to Caldos, part of the agreement he'd made with Beverly was that for now, he'd do the housekeeping. It was his turn to fix their dinner. He wished it were possible to as easily fix their lives.

Sixty minutes later, aromatic vegetable soup was simmering, freshly baked loaves of caraway rye bread were cooling, and a Caldosian type of pear tart waited in the warming oven.  
Jean-Luc filled a large copper kettle in the kitchen and then hung it over the parlor fireplace, as he remembered a conversation with Q that had occurred there.

Q had wondered if Picard could be fun or could he only live a contemplative life. And for a while, Picard had been quite sure that he could lead a contemplative life. For eleven weeks, he had. But then, he found that his life was perhaps too quiet.

Picard's search for remnants of Caldosian history had only resulted in a few unimpressive pieces of plain beige pottery shards. He had cleaned this somewhat primitive cottage with its eclectic collection of antique furniture, and other people's mementos. Sometimes he cooked. Sometimes he helped the villagers in exchange for home-baked goods and fresh vegetables, for replicators were rare items on Caldos. In and of itself, he'd found each simple task enjoyable.

But, during the past several weeks, he'd also found himself conversing with the few true friends that he had in the Admiralty. And he found himself during these chats, to be casually steering their talk toward his return to duty. Each and every time, for it didn't matter as to the identity of the admiral, they all avoided discussing Jean-Luc's career.

Jean-Luc Picard was not a man ignorant of the machinations of Starfleet and its politics. He knew what his friends were telling him by their silences. Once, he had lost the Stargazer. He'd almost lost his career then. Once he'd been Locutus of Borg. Too many superior officers had considered that to be the death knell of his career. But he had survived. Now, he had lost another ship, this time a galaxy-class starship, the pride - not to mention the flagship of the fleet - the USS Enterprise 1701-D.

And this loss could be the final sin that Starfleet would not forgive.

He'd been surprised when he hadn't been court-martialed. He'd been pleased when the same beneficence had included Will Riker.

At best, his future held teaching at the Academy. He wouldn't mind being a professor again. He'd enjoyed teaching in the years before his captaincy of the Enterprise. At worst, he'd one day be promoted to the rank of admiral and be assigned to some finance sub-committee. Another possibility was to retire and become an archaeologist. For Jean-Luc Picard now suspected that he would walk the decks of a starship as its captain, never ever again.

With all in readiness for dinner, Jean-Luc decided to walk in the herb garden that Felisa Howard had planted decades earlier. Jean-Luc was impressed by the condition of the garden when he had come to Caldos. Even though no one had lived in the cottage for years after Felisa's death, her neighbors had maintained the healer's beloved herbs and flowers out of respect for a lady that Picard now regretted never having met. Considering her granddaughter, the legacy that Felisa had left behind indicated how truly remarkable the grandmother must have been.

Jean-Luc was surprised to recognize how much he like strolling in this rambling garden, even bending now and then, to pull a weed or two. And at times like this, when the evening star was rising compelling the horizon to surrender its aurene hues to conquering indigo blues, he was almost at peace. He took a deep breath, appreciating a breeze headily aromatic with the perfumes of night-blooming flowers whose names he had yet to learn. He did not doubt that Beverly knew all the names.

He moved slowly down the flagstone path towards a favored nook - a stone shelf supported by two weathered wyvern as its base. He found it ironic that Q had once accused him of having no sense of whimsy when his favorite place on Caldos, other than Beverly's bed, contained two of the most silly-looking mythical beasties he had ever beheld.

He sat down, admiring the garden and the view of green rolling fields beyond the vine covered low stone fence. A man could think here. A man could look up at the stars here. And a man could wait for his lover here and dream of sensual things to be done in the night.

The breeze picked up as the night air grew chilly. So Jean-Luc picked a few china blue flowers for the white porcelain flower brick that Beverly kept on the dining alcove's table. And then he went inside to build up the fire in the parlor. Beverly was late. Usually, she'd make it home by twilight.

He settled down in his favorite armchair to watch the firelight dance about. A goblet of the local potent brandywine rested on the side table. It wasn't quite as good as the many Château Picard versions, but it was rather acceptable. An old, well-worn leather bound volume of Rainier Marie Riker's letters was waiting to be read. So naturally Jean-Luc promptly fell asleep.

A gentle touch upon his brow, the taste of his brandy on her lips, the sudden weight of her body pressing him down against the back of his wingback chair, disturbed Jean-Luc. He opened his eyes and was lost in the need of her gaze.

"Jean-Luc…" she whispered, her words making more of a demand than a greeting.

Now, Jean-Luc was wide awake. Beverly slid across his lap. And then she was facing him, straddling his hips, her weight resting on her knees.

"Beverly?"

"Hush, Jean-Luc. I'm hungry. I need you." She kissed him. He was quick to realize that her hunger was for more than bread.

Pleased, he followed her lead, his hands roving over her body, uncovering, searching, removing all immediate obstacles to their pleasuring, caressing her with a skill only learned from many hours that had already been spent in delight with Beverly. He was doing more than just acceding to her will.

She could feel the heat of him pressed up against her thighs as she tried to ride him through the fabric of his pants.

"Long shifts at the hospital?" he casually asked as he placed feather kisses across the angle of her cheek. He didn't give her a chance to answer, for his need overtook him. He claimed her mouth, his tongue plunging between her soft lips.

In response, she wriggled closer to him, pushing down his pants. She ached for him, throbbed for him, and was waiting to explode for him if he would just do something…

Bemused, he complied, not quite understanding her driving urgency, but accepting it. Opening his eyes, drawing her bared body against him, he pressed his hand against her abdomen and stroked the tender skin. His hand moved lower, to manipulate moist flesh that greeted his fingers. She was ready for him.

"Beverly?" he mumbled against her neck as he eased himself into her. He buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply of her subtle spicy perfume mixing with the scents of their bodies. His tongue touched behind her ear. He was fully aroused now. And so was she. Her neediness made him move more forcefully. She was not willing to dally. She was demanding immediate fulfillment. She cried out - a raspy sound against his cheek - when she got it. And then she melted against him.

Flaming need that was this hot was as quickly doused. Pinned by her body in their aftermath, he felt the ripples of desire ebb between them, as their bodies temporarily calmed. She rested against him in complete trust and acceptance.

"Beverly…" he groaned as she slanted her body against him, her weight shifting to now press against his ribs and hip. "Beverly… Mon coeur… Je t'aime… Je vous adore…"

"I know, Jean-Luc. I know."

Only in the days to come would he remember that she did not respond in kind.

He studied her face, trying to understand why his beloved had needed such an untamed mating. Not that he was complaining for as a young man, he'd learned never to question bon chance.  
Beverly pivoted so that now she was squeezed next to his hip. Truth was she was a little taller than Jean-Luc. It was easier for her to nestle Jean-Luc against her body with his head resting on her bosom, than the reverse. Passion was one thing. Poking elbows were another. Besides, Jean-Luc had no objections to this comfortable position. Ever since he'd met her, he'd dreamt of the shape and texture of Beverly. Now her breasts were only a caress away. He was delighted that at least a few of his most hidden desires had now become a reality.

Between placing little kisses across the back of his head, Beverly finally paid attention to their surroundings. "Jean-Luc, you never told me where this armchair came from…"

"Actually Beverly, I'd rather consider this to be our loveseat…"

She stopped kissing him, momentarily taken back by his words. And then laughed - a low laugh revealing how pleased she was by Jean-Luc's sense of humor. "You're impossible! Did I ever tell you that before?"

He looked at her, properly trying to keep his eyes focused only on her face during their conversation. "As your former starship captain, you conveyed that message to me on a daily basis."

"I did not."

"Oh, Beverly…," he sighed. "You did too."

She pinched his rib. "About the chair?"

"Let's just call it a gift from an old friend and leave it at that." (See my story "FIRESIDE CHAT".)

Something about the way he said it made her suspicious. "Who gave it to us?"

"You really don't want to know."

She noticed the way he was observing her. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"A great hunger, Doctor."

"Are you sorry that I woke you up…"

He shook his head. "Wise lady." He interrupted her with a kiss. He stretched. He suddenly moved, shoving against her, sliding her down his legs to land with a plop on a foot stool. He got to his feet and reached down for her.

She knew what that gleam in his eye meant. "Jean-Luc don't you dare try to pick me up in your arms! As your doctor I expressly forbid you endangering your precious back…"

He only smiled. "Of course, my dear doctor." He drew her up into a tight embrace, clasping both her hands and guiding them up to rest against his heart. "Whatever you say, doctor." He kissed her, a kiss full of promises of more kisses to come.

"Jean-Luc…" she warned.

And when she started to kiss him back, he swiftly picked her up, and threw her into a fireman's carry over his left shoulder.

"Jean-Luc! Are you mad? Put me down!"

"Mind your head," he warned, striding towards the stairs.

Suddenly she realized that she was cheek-to cheek, so to speak, with her superior officer. She started laughing to herself recalling Jean-Luc's high placement on the unofficial Enterprise 'beautiful buns' top ten list. Upon closer inspection she decided that the callipygian cognoscenti had been right in their assessment of his assets. Wondering if Jean-Luc knew, guessing that if he did not know he'd be embarrassed if he found out, Beverly debated telling him. Meanwhile, she placed a few kisses here and there, and then nipped.

He stopped climbing the stairs. "Doctor, are you kissing the ass of your superior officer?"

"Yes, Captain. And if you put me down, I might even do some sucking up too."

If Beverly had been able to stare at his face, she would have been surprised to discover that Jean-Luc Picard could grin - and it was a very wicked grin too.

He snorted, slapped her fanny, ignored her squeals of mock-protest, and then moved as quickly as he could into the room at the left of the top of the stairs - their bedroom. He plunked his good doctor down on her ancestral mahogany four-poster bed.

She looked at him. She glanced down at herself. There were certain inequalities between them at the moment. She reached up and started tugging off the sweater that was his only remaining piece of clothing other than his socks.

"No fair, Jean-Luc. If I'm going to be naked in this big bed, you'd better be bare too."

Ever the gentleman he assisted her in taking the sweater off. "I will always endeavor to fulfill your wishes, Beverly."

She stopped moving against him, sensing that he truly meant those words. At this moment, they were both in accord with each other.

She reached up and stroked his jaw. "Jean-Luc…" Her voice held a wealth of promise of what was to come.

He leaned over her and kissed her, pressing her back against an ancient ecru Lindsey-Woolsey coverlet. She touched him. This surprised him. "Beverly, so soon?" He thought of all that things that he had anticipated doing to her before their next mating.

She reached between their bodies doing her best to revive his interest. "We can play - later," she explained. "I thought that you were hungry…:

He chuckled as he shifted to accommodate her touch. "So it seems, are you."

"Decades to atone for, Jean-Luc…"

Before he lost control completely, he softly agreed. "You are right. We really should have done this years ago…"

He loved her. He wanted to tell her so even as he lowered his body onto hers. He wanted to say the words that had been in his heart forever - more words of love and even of everlasting commitment. Instead, he kissed her back. He began to move his tongue to match the rhythm of his body, knowing that he could not prolong this loving for nearly as long as they both would have wished.

Beverly caressed his head, then moved her hand down to the small of his back. At this moment he could have asked anything of her, and she would have given it. For he'd showed her the glory of what was to come. Now she was anticipating it, needing it, marveling at the miracle that this one man alone could bring upon her - upon them both. She recognized the patterns of his body's workings. She knew the familiar riding rhythm and subtle changes that took them upward from one stage of passion to the next. Rapidly the whirlpool of their feelings would spiral outward from that central point to reel out of control until they were both overwhelmed by its resplendence. She'd learned to anticipate the moment of his climax, and bring him greater pleasure by her own responses. They'd only been lovers a short while, yet they made love as if they'd known each other intimately for a lifetime - maybe even many, many lifetimes.

The shattering came as he guided her into momentary oblivion. She let him claim his passion. Then peace and joy claimed them both.

They got little sleep that night as their need for each other was absolutely overpowering at times. He was astounded by its depth.

Near dawn, Jean-Luc rose, finally letting Beverly stay sleeping instead of turning to her. Naked, he walked over to the window that overlooked the front part of the garden. For a while he stood there, watching the dawn, just thinking. He silently went to the clothes press and removed his running clothes from a drawer, then picking up a pair of shoes neatly stowed below. In the hallway he quickly dressed. He went down the stairs planning to put the kettle on, for this cottage had no replicator - just like his ancestral home at LaBarre.

Soon, their closest neighbor Ruby MacPherson would be coming with her daily delivery of bread. He chuckled to himself thinking of all the clothing strewn about the front parlor. Last night, they hadn't felt inclined to fold anything and put it away. He wondered what Mrs. MacPherson would make of the mess. He also knew what Beverly would make of it, if she found out that someone had seen the disarray before he'd had a chance to straighten it out. Her Nana had prided herself on the immaculate condition of her cottage. Jean-Luc had found it amusing that Beverly had still tried to maintain the cottage to her grandmother's standards. But from what Jean-Luc had learned about the lady by conversing with the villagers, he'd had a feeling that Beverly's Nana would not have minded the reason behind the mess.

He surprised Mrs. MacPherson in the parlor.

Trying not to stare or giggle at the sight of a man's undershorts caught under a needlepoint footstool, Mrs. MacPherson, an elderly lady with a forceful, cheerful and albeit nosy personality, raised up her arm holding a branch woven basket. "I'm surprised that you're already up. I just thought to bring in your bread and croissants, and those buns that Beverly likes, and not be disturbing you this morning."

Knowing that the only thing he could do was to politely make the best of an awkward situation, he formally replied, "Most considerate, as always, Mrs. MacPherson."

"Seeing how things are in here, I take it that Beverly is back."

Picard thought that the sight of Beverly's rather large shuttlecraft parked in the field beyond the house should have been a clue as to her arrival.

Ruby continued to inspect the disarray. "The kitchen needs a bit of straightening too."

Jean-Luc stiffened, withdrawing himself behind his invisible mantle of dignity. He was not about to explain to this woman, kindly neighbor though she be, about his 0200 raid on the kitchen with Beverly, and its amorous food inspired consequences.

"Do you want me to clean up a bit after such a long night? Beverly must be tired."

"It's kind of you to offer, Mrs. MacPherson, but the servo unit will attend to such things."

"Felisa would never have allowed such things in her home."

"Really?" This rotund, diminutive and bossy next door neighbor presumed too much. Any former crewmember or officer, of the Enterprise or Stargazer would have known what Jean-Luc meant by the mere tone of his chilly, ever-so-proper voice.

Ruby MacPherson, however, was not intimidated by the former captain of the Enterprise. For Felisa had told her many things about this man. She put down her basket of bread and did not budge.

He stepped over to the outside door and held it open for the lady. "Thank you for the baked goods."

She walked to the threshold, her stiff woolen grey plaid skirt crackling with her every step. Undaunted, she continued, "As a good friend to Felisa, Lord bless her soul, I feel it only to be my duty to ask you as to when are you going to marry the girl?" Ruby MacPherson stood there, braced against the doorjamb, awaiting an answer to her question.

Picard was almost amused by the lady's determination to meddle. She reminded him of a certain Betazoid Ambassadress. Besides, it had been a long time since anyone had referred to Beverly as a girl.

"Mrs. MacPherson, Dr. Crusher and I would prefer to keep our personal arrangements private." He said it quite politely, but not even this woman could be dense enough not to heed the sternness of his voice.

"As you say, Mister Picard." She cast a backwards glance towards the parlor. "But whatever are you going to tell the children when they start coming, if you're not Beverly's husband?" With that she scurried down the path before he could think of a proper rebuttal.

He watched her walk away. For he had caught her use of 'Mister'. He was suddenly glad that she was not a diplomat or a politician. She'd be a formidable foe. Then he considered her parting words as he shut the door behind him and walked out into the garden. "Children," he muttered. "I'm too old to have…" He stopped doing his runner's warm-up stretches. "Good God, Beverly is not." He glanced upwards at their bedroom window. "I never even considered the possibility…" 

But there was a portion of his hungry soul that did want that possibility…

A while later, after doing his usual run to the village, he stopped off to pick up some Irish black tea for Beverly, and some fresh vegetables from the local emporium. The proprietor, a Mr. Zahner Bruce, a portly brown humanoid of both Scottish and Elkanaan heritage, greeted Picard warmly.

The villagers of Inverfarigaig had welcomed Jean-Luc Picard for several reasons. First, it was because of consideration and deference for the Howard clan. Secondly, it was out of respect for the Starfleet officer that Jean-Luc was. And finally, it was because that on occasion, usually when Beverly was not on the planet, Jean-Luc Picard could be persuaded to tell a tall tale or two over a cuppa Earl Grey. It had been such a very long time since Jean-Luc had enjoyed the company of people who just simply liked being around him for his own sake. They would listen to his words with no hidden agenda or constraints of rank to bother them. He didn't realize how isolated he had become. Or how unaccustomed he was for simple human contact. Ordinarily, he would spend an hour or two visiting. But today the word that Beverly was back, and the details of their lover's reunion had spread quickly throughout the streets. No one sought to delay Jean-Luc this morning.

When he entered the cheerful rose and gold kitchen of their cottage, he saw sliced melon waiting on the alcove table. He could smell croissants toasting. Placing a tote bag on the counter, he went into the parlor looking for Beverly. He was amazed that she was up for if she'd gotten two hours of sleep, he'd have been surprised. He found her in his study. The moment he saw her, he knew that something was very, very wrong.

She stood at the sight of him, waving an info disc. She was madder than a wet Caldosian bred Scottish grey chicken.

"Beverly?" he quietly asked.

"When were you going to tell me, Jean-Luc? Or were you just going to pack your bags and maybe leave a note?"

"Beverly?" He wasn't exactly sure what it was that he was supposed to have done wrong.

"Here's the blasted routing to Gaudete II!" She smashed the chip on the desk top.

"Oh." He strove to be reasonable. "Beverly, they asked me to be an assistant director. If I decide to accept, I would be gone about fourteen to sixteen weeks." She was not placated. "I was going to discuss this with you last night. But we never really had a chance for dispassionate discourse last night."

In spite of her temper, she had to admit that he did have a point.

"All right. We will talk about this now." She sat down on the desk chair and crossed her arms, waiting for his explanation.

"Vash suggested…" The moment he said that lady's name, he knew that he'd made a major tactical error. Beverly didn't say anything but the atmosphere in the room turned chilly.

"You've been communicating with Vash?" Beverly sounded as if she were merely interested.

Picard knew better. "She didn't want to do this dig herself, so she recommended me to Director Storal instead, citing my experience with Professor Galen." Picard laughed.

If it had been any other mortal, Beverly would have described that laugh as nervous.

"Vash doesn't want to go on an archaeological dig with you?" Beverly tried not to sound too incredulous.

"I don't think that Vash cares for my moral convictions. Or the dent that I'll put in her profit margin by stifling her natural proclivities."

This Beverly could understand and accept.

"So, you're going?"

"I am not sure." He wanted to add that his decision to go depended solely upon her, but he wasn't sure if he should mention that now.

"What about Starfleet?"

"They do not have any immediate plans for my future, Beverly." He tried not to sound too resentful.

Beverly stood, her countenance softening, understanding the pain of betrayal that he could not help but feel over Starfleet's actions - or their lack thereof. She put her arms around his neck, and clasped him to her breast. "Whatever you decide, Jean-Luc, you know I will support you."

"But will you live with me?"

"We will have a home here, together - as long as you wish it, Jean-Luc," she pledged.

She kissed him. And kissed him again, promising to revive certain flames that had only been dampened and not extinguished during their long night of lover's bouts.

He stepped back, grateful yet still troubled by her efforts. He chose the path of least resistance. "I think we'd better have breakfast, otherwise I'll be of little use to you before this day and night is through."

She took his hand and let him into the kitchen. She picked up a jar of brandied strawberry jam. "We'll take our repast upstairs?"

Shivering at the thought of what she could do to him, deciding that he was up to the task, he put together a tray and followed his lady love up the stairs. He ignored the fact that they both were deliberately side-stepping issues about their relationship that needed to be resolved. But not just yet. For now, they were losing themselves in the desires of the flesh.

 

TBC


	2. Cry Unk! Or Running Away Never Solved a Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean-Luc becomes a pirate (or is it Maquis?) with the help of an old friend.

Part 2:   
Cry Unk! or running away never solved a problem. 

(All the usual disclaimers apply.)

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard listened to the unsteady thrum of the Valosian cargo ship's warp engine. He was half-inclined to go down to engineering and offer their chief engineer, if there was such a misfortunate soul on board this ship, his help. He swung off his hammock, barely avoiding hitting his elbow against a bulkhead. He had never thought that he'd one day consider Galen's quarters on board Baran's pirate ship to be luxurious. In contrast to the dirty grey guest quarters of a Valosian vessel, those pirate quarters were positively palatial.

This was the fifth ship he'd been on during his very round-about journey to Gaudete II. The Valosian ship, the Unk, was also the worst of all of the vessels on which he had traveled. Very little worked as it should from replicators to sonic showers. And though his fare had been cheap, Picard wondered if it wouldn't have been wiser to have waited for the cruise ship the Princess Ardella to have continued this leg of the journey. It would have only meant staying on Starbase 66 an extra ten days. But those days would have been ten days in which he would have had time to think about Beverly. And right now, he was not in the mood to be introspective about Beverly. So, he'd opted for the first available ship. It had been a poor choice.  
The only thing he didn't regret about journeying on the Unk, were meeting his fellow travelers, a settler woman named Mela and her twins, a boy named Jory and a girl named Harla.  
A long time ago, he'd once dreaded being in the company of children. But that had been before Mirabor and Batai, and even Wesley. Now, on board a dreary vessel with little to do but complain - which was not part of his inherent nature - he found the company of children to be preferable.

There was a tap on his cabin hatch.

He moved the two meters from his hammock to the hatch, opened it and saw Mela, a very tall and very pregnant woman who was traveling to join her husband on Tohvun, a planet that had recently been settled. Privately, he questioned the wisdom of a newly-settled farming planet so near the Cardassian/Federation demilitarized zone. But as a Starfleet officer and a gentleman, he'd learned a long time ago that it was not polite to question the logic of other people's dreams.

"John Luke." She said his name with a slight guttural accent, thinking that Luke was his last name.

Picard didn't correct this misconception. No one on board was aware of his real identity for he'd been listed as J. Picard on the ship's manifest. He preferred traveling with little fanfare. If he'd journeyed as a famous Starfleet officer he would have had to answer too many questions about what he was doing on board such a ship, not to mention being the recipient of unwelcome personal attention. For he'd never been the type of man to trade on his position for favors. He was beginning to question the wisdom of such a decision.

And then there was the possibility of running into survivors of Wolf 359. Though it had happened only a few times, right now he felt too vulnerable to display the tolerance and tact that such distraught people usually demanded. The visible scars of being a Borg assimilant had vanished; the wounds to his soul would not go away.

Mela stood in the hatchway, nervous around this quiet, graceful, controlled man whose very demeanor bespoke of so much hidden in his life. He said so little about himself.

"I'm simmering up some vegetables for lunch. Won't you join us?"

Though they have been on board together for four days, this was the first time she'd asked him to share a meal.

Picard didn't realize that over thirty years of being a command officer had given him such a natural, imposing bearing that most people found him intimidating - including Mela Torez. But he had shown great kindness to her twins so she felt obligated to be as hospitable as one could be on board this lousy ship.

He considered her offer of lunch. It sounded like a wiser choice than trying to get some unknown edible out of the lone replicator in their area. This morning he'd even been forced to bash the control panel before he'd gotten some tepid liquid that was by no means identifiable as drinkable tea.

"Only if you permit me to bring something." He mentally reviewed the contents of his bag of rations that he'd originally intended for possible use at the excavation. "I have some fruit and chocolate that I can offer."

Mela smiled. She was a pretty woman with long brown hair. Her blue eyes were full of enthusiasm for the life that she was about to begin. Though of Terran ancestry, she'd never even seen Earth for she was a sixth generation settler.

Being the recipient of her smile caused Picard, for a brief moment, to consider that Mela's husband Jorge, was a very lucky man.

"That sounds wonderful, John. You're much more good at this starship travel business stuff than me. This trip is only the second time I've ever been off-planet."

Picard turned around. He didn't have far to reach for one of his bags. He removed a package of dried fruit and a box of chocolate.

"Shall we?"

She eyed his tiny, but neatly organized cabin before he shut the hatch. "You're used to this, aren't you? It looks like you've gone around quite a bit in your life. I bet you've traveled a lot. Have you been to many planets?"

Her innocent questions caused him to grimace. "I don't care to discuss it," he snapped. He regretted his rudeness the moment he said the words. Just because he was in a lousy mood was not justification to inflict his displeasure on someone else who was only trying to be friendly. He could see that his retort had hurt her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Torez. I didn't mean to upset you." He could tell that she wanted to accept his apology. He had a sense that she was surprised by anyone apologizing to her.

"I shouldn't have pried. My husband is always telling me that I ask way too many questions…"

He held up his hand to silence her. "Please, Mrs. Torez. I'm only this disagreeable when I can't get a proper cup of tea. And I shouldn't have been taking it out on you. This ship…"

"It's not exactly a cruise ship, is it?" Picard nodded. Mela continued. "I've seen those pictures advertising such ships. Imagine a space ship where you have your own window, replicator and anything else you could wish for! They even have restaurants on board for fine dining." She glanced up the corridor. "Here they define luxury with owning a pot."

For a second Picard was tempted to tell her about what life had been like on board his starship. He wondered if she'd believe that he had fresh flowers in his quarters every other day.

They walked down the corridor to her quarters which was only about two square meters larger than his cabin.

Sitting on the edge of the bunk that the twins used, he shared their meal, and told them of his days in France as a boy. Once Mela had discovered that he'd been born on Earth, she had been full of questions. These were questions that he did not mind answering.

For a while he did not remember Beverly, and all of the problems that he'd left behind. But then the meal was over, and after he'd tutored Mela's twins in fractions for about an hour, it was time for him to leave.

And then the ship lurched and lurched again. The sound of the engines changed. Trying not to appear worried, he stuck his head outside the door and looked up and down the short corridor that defined the passenger section of the freighter. No one was running around or screeching in panic. He supposed that this was a good sign. But Jean-Luc by his very nature, upbringing and training, was a cautious man.

"Mrs. Torez…"

"Please, John Luke. Can't you call me Mela? After all, we're going to be sharing living space for the next eight days."

"Mela." He glanced down the corridor, then pointed at a hatch. "Mela, that hatch leads to an escape pod. I've already examined it. It's in working order." He didn't add the fact that he considered it to be a minor miracle that the pod was functional. "Just to be on the safe side…"

She grabbed his arm and tersely whispered, "Are we in danger?"

He placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed it. "No, we are not in any immediate danger. As I said, it is just as a precaution that maybe you should show the children where the escape pod is. And place all of your non-essential luggage in the pod. I will do the same."

She intuited more than he was saying.

"Maybe I'd better put everything in the pod, and only let the children sleep and play in our quarters."

She looked up and down the corridor, too. It was the only place she'd been since she'd come on board the Unk. For the ship's captain had not permitted his passengers to go anywhere else. 

Though Picard had chaffed at the restrictions, he complied with the captain's orders. He was not about to question a captain's authority even though he knew he could probably override the man's decision with his Starfleet image alone.

"I'm not an expert about space ships like you but even I could tell that this ship's not in the best of shape." She squeezed his hand back. For a brief moment, especially when he smiled up at her, she wondered what it would be like to be with another man other than her husband. This one was a man who could tempt any woman, if he were so inclined.

"Why don't we share out meals?" he offered. She was surprised by his words, though he didn't take them back.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to give up all your chocolate. You know how children are, always pleading and even whining…"

"I can assure you, Madam - Mela - that I have more than enough chocolate packed in my bags. I can afford to share them with two six-year-olds." His expression softened, as his gaze looked beyond her to a place in his distant past. "I can remember my daughter doing her best to cajole an extra sweet out of me. Even after her mother had said no. And especially after her mother had said no…"

Mela removed her hand. "You are married?"

"Once - long ago in a dream. Not anymore."

During his rest period, Jean-Luc was too restless to sleep. There was little space in the passenger's area for any kind of vigorous exercise, and he missed it. He did practice his meditations and T'ai Chi Ch'uan. Still it wasn't enough. He was on edge, whether it be from his uncertainty over the safety of the ship or from his unresolved relationship with Beverly.  
Beverly.

He rolled, as best he could, on his hammock, trying to find a comfortable position. But as long as Beverly was on his mind, that wasn't going to happen soon. He finally faced what he had been avoiding. His anger cooled. He could now remember things in calmness. He thought about their last time together and wondered what, if anything, he could have done to have changed what had happened between them…

=/\= =/\= =/\=

They'd stayed abed for almost the entire time of Beverly's leave. Nights and days blurred into the other as they'd concentrated on matters of the flesh between them. This time became one of the most memorable periods of Picard's life. For a while now, he'd been in harmony with Beverly. But it wasn't to last, as usual.

Their problems came to a head when he'd gone down to the kitchen to fix a light repast. Beverly's duty jacket had fallen off of the clothes peg by the Dutch doors. So naturally he retrieved it in order to hang it back up. And that's when he noticed them - four shiny pips on her collar. Beverly had been promoted to captain and she hadn't bothered to mention it.

He went to their bedroom and just simply handed her the jacket.

"Captain."

This word was more an indictment than a lover's congratulations.

"Jean-Luc, I meant to tell you, but…"

"Tell me now."

He was trying to act reasonably and calmly, even though there was an anger building in his heart that could destroy them both. He strove to control it.

She slid out of bed and put on an embroidered floral turquoise silk robe that had been a gift from Deana. She tightened the belt and then turned to face her lover.

"I've been offered a ship - CMO of the hospital ship the Clara Barton."

"She's galaxy class. I didn't know that she was that close to being commissioned."

"She's not. She's months away. Starfleet command wants me to supervise her outfitting and the picking of the crew."

"As her captain?"

"My promotion was not contingent upon my accepting the captaincy. I've been offered that post, but I haven't give them my answer yet."

"Why not? You'd be a good captain. You're certainly capable of it."

She was pleased that he could say such words of affirmation to her. "I'm not so sure that I'd be a good captain for the same reasons I wasn't the best of CMOs for you on the Enterprise."

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her down next to him. "Beverly, why this self-doubt? I have always given you the highest approval ratings on your medical and command evaluations - including those of a line officer. I can think of no other medical officer who is better or more qualified for command than you."

"Medical officer, yes. Line command, no."

He reached over and brushed aside a strand of hair that was threatening to fall over her eyes. For a moment his fingers lingered, cupping her face briefly. "Command or medical, you are one   
of the finest officers with whom I have ever served - and hope to serve with again."

She responded to his words by gratefully kissing his cheek. "Thank you, Jean-Luc. But that still doesn't alter the facts that on occasion, I have placed my Hippocratic oath ahead of my oath to Starfleet. And that in the future, if I have to make such a choice again, I still will be a doctor first, and a Starfleet officer second."

Picard remembered several incidents from Doctor Reyga to Brekka to Kyril Finn.

"I still think that you'd make a good command officer, Beverly. Starfleet needs people with your passion for truth and honor."

She said nothing. For a while, they just sat there, holding each other. He knew he had to ask the silent question that was between them.

"You suggested that I be offered the captaincy of the Barton, didn't you?"

The tears threatening to flow down her cheeks gave him his answer. She finally spoke, her voice choking with the pain that she felt for him. "They said that you weren't even being considered for this chair."

A fleeting smile crossed over his face.

"Perhaps I should resign my commission. I was a teacher once at a university and then at the Academy. Maybe I can be a teacher again."

"When were you a teacher?" Beverly had thought that she'd known almost all of the details about Jean-Luc's life.

"After my Stargazer court martial. I taught archaeology on Centauri and then tactics at the Academy. And ethics."

"But not to children."

"I survived cadets, Beverly. Surely children can't be that much more of a challenge." He brought her fingertips up to his lips and kissed each one lightly. She shivered. "No matter. I can adjust. What say you? Shall I become a civilian and join you on board the Clara Barton - as your husband?"

She stiffened. "Jean-Luc, don't even think about joking about this." Even as she said the words she knew that Jean-Luc would never do such a thing.

"Beverly… surely you've considered marriage. It is the logical progression to our relationship."

She removed her hand from his, shaking her head. "I don't know, Jean-Luc. I've never really thought about it."

He knew she was lying. He just didn't understand why. He abruptly stood and turned away from her. "You owe me the truth, Beverly. If you don't want to be my wife, just say so. I can understand and accept it. But don't pretend that you have never ever considered the possibility of our relationship in that light."

She stood, and came up behind him placing her hands on his grey silk clad shoulders, rubbing his tense muscles for a while.

"You're right. There were times when I'd dreamed about being your wife. And heaven knows Wesley, when we were together on board the Enterprise, did everything possible to foster such a connection. But I've never, ever seriously thought about our being married. My life is complicated enough by just being your lover, much less by anything else."

He turned around to face her. "I don't know how good a civilian I'd make. I'm a little out of practice. But I'd be willing to try, if it were a way for us to be together."

"The Barton is a medical and hospital ship."

"There still will be families. You'll need someone to teach their children."

"Do you really think that you could step aside and let me, or some other officer, be your commanding officer? You've been a captain for over thirty years. Do you really think that you could just automatically stop being a captain? I don't just mean your command, but your rank as well - your instinctive responses?"

"I would try. That's all I can promise, Beverly. If you were my captain, I'd follow you anywhere." He put his arms about her waist and hugged her briefly. "Take the chair, Beverly. That would be the best thing that you could do for yourself, for Starfleet - and for me. You were born to be a doctor, but along the way you became a damn fine command officer. Starfleet needs officers of your caliber. There are none better than you."

She was crying openly now. Her pain was spilling forth. "Jean-Luc, I want to believe you. Lord knows, it would be easier on both of us if I could accept that you'd readily give up Starfleet. But is it really and truly possible? Can you do it?"

"I can only try, Beverly. I cannot promise anything more."

"I've got to think about this, Jean-Luc. Please give me the time."

He stepped back from her. His voice was flat, emotionless - as if chipped from ice. "You don't believe that I can do it - that I can give up Starfleet for you."

She had to be honest with him. "I do know that you will try. I just don't think that you can do it. You're too used to controlling every thing and every one. Even me! You decided to try and stop me from being your CMO when I was first assigned to the Enterprise. And yes, I know that you changed your mind. But, you didn't even think to ask me in the first place! And that attitude hasn't changed." She shook with an anger that was threatening to burgeon forth. "Why do you think I left after that first year?"

"You never told me."

She almost shrieked. "You never even asked! I needed you - needed more from you than just a proper, officious cold word from you, now and then. And you wouldn't even dare to offer me your friendship back then. It would have been improper. It took me a whole year to decide that I could accept your terms and live within the emotional wasteland that you provided."

He took another step away from her, stunned by her accusations. He didn't comprehend them.

"When I lost Jack, I lost you too, Jean-Luc. Why? Why did you leave me, too?"

He could not answer her questions. He dared not answer her questions.

She stepped up to him and stared at him, openly daring him to respond.

He stepped around her and went to the doorway. "I am taking the Gaudete job. That should give you enough time to think over all of your options. And to decide what is best for your career,   
Captain."

She was trembling with suppressed anger. "Jean-Luc! This isn't a business negotiation!"

"Isn't it?" His voice was even colder, and as judgmental as he could make it.

"It's our lives!"

"Together?"

She couldn't answer him.

"I think not."

He grabbed his running clothes and left the room. He had to try very hard not to hear her cursing and sobbing, as he ran down the stairs.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

The next few days on board the Unk were uneventful, though Picard grew more and more concerned about the condition of the ship. It didn't help matters any, when he realized that the ship was rendezvousing with other ships that hadn't been listed on the official route itinerary.

There'd been a reason why the ship's captain had not questioned Picard too closely, when he'd come on board. No one had asked too many questions on board this ship. Picard suspected to do otherwise would be quite unhealthy. This captain and his crew reminded him of smugglers and pirates - only they smelled more.

Picard suspected smuggling, the Maquis or worse. He also decided that the sooner he was off of this ship, the better. And he'd take Mela and her children with him. He'd seen the way the crew had dealt with Mela during an occasional encounter. He had a feeling that if he hadn't been around, her treatment would have been quite different than what it was now. He had enough credits in his bank account to find the lady a better way to get to Tohvun other than this ship.

Picard had spent the passing hours conversing with Mela, tutoring her children and teaching all of them the basics about the escape pod. He'd even taken to sleeping in his clothes and had recommended to Mela that she and her children do the same. Not that Picard ever claimed to be psychic, but he had a sense of disaster about this voyage, and he thought it best that they all be prepared.

When there were only two days away from their port, it happened. The sound of the engines altered, and then they stopped. Picard woke up, sensing the change. At first, he thought that it was yet another unofficial rendezvous. But then he heard the screams and what sounded like disruptor blasts rebounding off of bulkheads. He quickly slipped into his boots and grabbed the two phasers and tricorder that he stored by his hammock. Checking the corridor before he entered it, he then went over to Mela's cabin and pounded on her hatch.

"Mela. Come. We've got to get out of here."

When she opened the door, he was pleased to see that she was dressed, and that hiding behind her were two ready, but sleepy children. He handed her his spare phaser.

"It's set on stun. Don't be afraid to use it if you have to."

"What's going on?"

"I don't know - but it's nothing good."

She silently took in his words, following him leading the children down the corridor to the escape pod hatch. Once inside of the pod, Picard quickly set about making things secure after locking the hatch.

Though the children were fractious, he ignored them. Mela quietly did whatever she was told. And when they'd done all that they could do short of leaving the ship, Picard pulled out his Tricorder.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

"I don't know." He worked on adjusting his instrument. "If we're lucky, it's only a minor dispute between smugglers. If we're not, it could be pirates or worse."

He didn't mince his words.

All of the horror stories about pirates that had floated about the galaxy and been exaggerated with every telling, preyed on her mind. "Tell me what to do." She said it calmly, though she instinctively crossed her hands over her belly, as a protective gesture for her unborn child.

Picard had to give her credit. For someone who wasn't Starfleet trained, she was behaving rather well. "If they're renegade Ferengi we can negotiate our ransom."

Mela whitened dramatically. "It took all our money just to book this passage. Jorge has the rest."

"Don't worry, Mela. I've enough credits in my accounts for all of us, to satisfy any Ferengi."

She didn't waste his time with foolish protestations. "Who else?"

Picard thought for a moment. "In this part of the galaxy, they could be rogue Klingons."

"Mother of God! Klingons!"

"I've had certain dealings with Klingons, before. The rumors don't do them justice. They won't harm you or the children." He silently added providing that they are honorable Klingons still loyal to Gowron…

"And if they are Cardies?"

Picard's attempt at a reassuring smile became strained. "You and the children will be reasonably safe with Cardassians."

"But what about you?"

"I'll only be safe if they don't run an identity check." He couldn't understand why Mela suddenly looked so relieved. "I've had past dealings with Cardassians. I do not care for their company or their version of hospitality."

"You're Maquis?" She almost sounded hopeful.

"No."

Mela was still thinking the worst. "And if they're Andorian pirates?" she whispered.

"Then, we're in considerable trouble." For a moment he thought that she was going to faint, but then she rallied.

"What can we do?"

"If we can get away from the Unk without being detected, we'll head for the nearest M class planet. I've got an emergency beacon in my bags. Once the attackers have left, I'll turn it on." He tried to reassure her. "Who knows? Maybe, if we're lucky, they will turn out to be only Maquis raiders."

"Oh, pray that they are, John Luke!"

Now he was getting suspicious. "Why?"

"Jorge went to Tohvun in order to join the Maquis. He wanted to farm on a free planet."

Picard considered all the things that he could say to her about the Maquis and didn't. "If they are the Maquis, you'll be safe with them."

She sensed what he didn't say. "But what about you? Won't you be safe with the Maquis?"

"I think it best if we don't encounter anyone at all. Let's see if we can get out of here without being detected." He looked at the twins, and then knelt down in front of them. "Jory. Harla. You have to be brave right now, and do what your Mother and I tell you to do. Promise?" They both nodded. "Good." He looked up at their mother. "Buckle them up, then take the chair next to mine."

He moved over to the comm panel and sat down in the first chair. He worked on his Tricorder and patched in the readings from the sensors.

"I can't identify the boarder's ship. They don't have an ID registry signal." He looked up from the control panel and glanced over at Mela. "We seem to be near a planetary system with an asteroid belt. If I can get us out of here, I'm going to head for it."

Mela may have been planet bound most of her life, but she'd heard about the many dangers of going through an asteroid belt. "You're good enough to pilot through an asteroid belt?"

He grimly smiled, more to himself rather than to reassure the lady. He thought of the two ships that he'd lost. "Depends upon whom you ask." Realizing that she might not take his words in the manner in which he had intended, he added, "Let's just get out of here. If this ship is maneuverable, I can pilot it in that belt." He didn't give voice to all of the other potential problems from trying to determine their location to hoping that they had enough supplies on board to survive a lengthy trip. He worked on the control panel for a while. "We've got shields. I'm going to cut us away from the Unk." Moments later they were free from the freighter.

"Pray," he suggested.

"What?"

He guided the pod to a position close and parallel to the Unk. He hoped that they could hide there. The marauder's ship was out of sight, on the opposite side of the Unk. "Pray that they're too busy on both bridges to notice this pod leaving."

He gave thanks that the Unk was an ungainly ship, with a bulky midsection. It had been designed for cargo and not for swiftness of passage. For a few minutes he thought that they were in luck. The attacking ship was not moving. But then alarms started sounding all over his comm panel and Tricorder.

"Merde!"

His fingers moved rapidly over the control panel. The pod's engines, such as they were, revved up. He plotted a course straight for the nearest asteroid. They almost made it.

"Hang on," he tersely ordered.

Before she could even ask, the pod shook then rocked. There was a blinding burst of light. And then the Unk was no more.

"Dear heavens…" she whispered.

For a few tense minutes, he didn't say anything. Then he breathed a long, deep sigh. It had been tricky, but they'd reached the asteroids. Picard guided the pod, on quarter impulse power, behind the nearest sizable rock.

"Now what?" Mela whispered, still shaking from the death of the Unk and her crew.

Picard used the Tricorder to scan the interior of the tiny pod. "Some radiation exposure, nothing serious." His words were terse. "The attacking ship - they survived, but they appear damaged."

"Can they come after us?"

Picard looked over his Tricorder's data. "I don't think so. Their ship is too big."

"So, what do we do?"

"We wait until they leave."

Seven hours later, Picard guided the pod out of the asteroid base, and plotted a course to the nearest M class planet, in the Kelrabi system. The Kelrabi system had been turned over to the Federation during the recent border negotiations. But Picard wasn't sure that this wasn't more a paper change than a planetary one. He was sure that there would be Cardassians on the planet. However, he had no choice. They only had ten days’ worth of supplies and air. Kelrabi VII was their only possible destination.

Two hours later they were being hailed. Picard used the pod's limited sensors to scan the space around them, but they weren't powerful enough to show anything.

"What do you want me to do, John Luke?"

"If we're boarded, let me do the talking."

"What if they ask me questions?"

"Tell them I'm your husband's cousin and that I'm escorting you to Jorge." He smiled reassuringly. "After the last few days, I certainly know enough about your background to qualify as a family member."

Quietly Mela responded, "But I still know next to nothing about you…"

They were hailed again. This time, Picard answered it.

A few minutes later a tractor beam latched on to their pod. "Hide your phaser," Picard ordered. "Don't use it unless it's absolute necessary."

The pod shook as it was dragged inside of the smuggler's ship. And this time it felt and sounded like it had crashed onto a deck. Hoping that he was doing the right thing, Picard opened up the hatch.

"Mon Dieu…," he whispered, when he came face to face with nine phasers pointed at him.

A mud-yellow wiry Teraen stepped forward, waving phasers in two of his four hands. Picard took this as a command to follow the fellow. So he did, with his hands upraised. Another humanoid whose species Picard couldn't identify, pushed Mela and her children behind him. They went en masse down the corridor until they arrived at a ready room, and then were escorted inside. It took Picard a moment to adjust to the dimmer light in the ready room. He could see that there were several figures about the table.

"So, you're the waffa birds that flew away from the freighter," a big voice boomed. "You gave me a fair chase." The man shoved away from the rectangular table and stood. He was a giant of a man, with a braided beard almost as long as his scraggly grey hair. He had a big belly. And, most importantly, he was pointing a disruptor straight at Picard's artificial heart.

"Who are you?" It was said pleasantly enough, but the menace was unmistakable.

Picard calmly answered back. "I could ask the same about you."

But this conversation became moot when Picard was jacked. "Merde!" he whispered when he could catch his breath. For he was being kissed. Thoroughly. Knowingly.

"John Luke!" Mela screamed, fearing that this was an attack. With the way he was being kissed, it was hard to tell the difference between love or war.

"Fancy meeting you here - Johnny."

A woman took a step back, releasing him, rather relishing her moment and the pole-axed expression on Picard's face.

"Welcome aboard the Adama," she said, with a grin that wouldn't quit.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Newly promoted Lieutenant Commander Reginald Endicott Barclay III entered the quarters that he shared with newly promoted three-shiny-pip Commander Geordi LaForge.  
When Geordi and Reg had been transferred to the Daystrom Institute Annex at Utopia Planetia, both men had been pleased and excited about the posting. But they quickly discovered that officer's quarters, in what was one of the oldest functioning Starfleet facilities, didn't come close to what they had become accustomed to on the Enterprise. Living space was at a premium on the UP.

The Daystrom Institute had spent most of their monies on improving the research building facilities. Improving the crew's quarters were almost an afterthought. Though each officer was entitled to their own quarters, if they shared, they'd get a four room suite instead of two tiny rooms alone.

"Lights up, 20%," Reg ordered the computer, as he stood in the center of their common room.

Idly, he wondered about his quarters. If this was what the Daystrom Institute offered commanders in Starfleet, how badly cramped were the quarters for noncoms?

Barclay looked about the grey and beige room that was used as a combination living room, dining room, den, and on one occasion, their poker room. Not that Barclay was obsessively neat, but it had been a long time since he'd shared living quarters with anyone. Even as an ensign, no one had wanted to share quarters with him, so he'd always been alone as an officer. He started picking up the discarded plates, socks and padds that Geordi had left about the room. He wondered if Geordi had always been this messy, or was it since the crash of the Enterprise that he'd become a slob.

The door to Geordi's bedroom was open, so Reg peeked inside. Geordi lay collapsed, face forward, across the bed, his feet were still dragging on the floor. His visor had rolled off the bed. By his hand was another knocked over tumbler. Reg went inside and picked up the glass and sniffed.

"Damn. Blue ale, again."

Not for the first time he wished Deanna Troi was nearby. Personally, he missed her as a friend and as his therapist. Now, Geordi needed her. So far at UP, Barclay had found no one else that he wanted to take her place.

But right now, something was seriously troubling his friend. Geordi had been drinking too much, too often. Even when he was hung over, Geordi was still the best damn engineer in Starfleet. But sooner or later, someone else was going to notice that Geordi had been functioning on auto-pilot as of late.

The doorbell chimed. Barclay ignored it. It chimed insistently again. "Damn." He left Geordi's room, and closed the door. "Enter."

Leah Brahms stomped into the room, her rose chamois skirt flapping about her calves. "Where is he?"

One didn't need to be a telepath to see that she was angry. Furious.

"Uh, who, Doctor?"

She looked about the room, noting the single closed door. "Is he in there?"

"Uh, do you mean Commander LaForge?"

"You know damn well who I mean, Mr. Barclay!" She took a step closer to the door.

"He's uh… not in there…"

She darted around him aiming for the door.

"No. No! He's not in there, that is, uh, he's elsewhere…" Barclay blocked her progress. "Are you sure that you're looking for Geordi?"

"Get out of my way!" she warned

"Uh, Doctor…"

Suddenly the bedroom door swung open.

"Reg! Shut up! Can't you see I'm trying to sleep!" a disheveled Geordi shouted. He stumbled into the living room. And then he noticed Dr. Brahms. "Leah!" He didn't sound too happy to see her.

"You missed my staff meeting this morning!"

"So? You're not my boss!"

She glowered at LaForge. "Oh yes I am your Boss!" she angrily enunciated. "You've missed four staff meetings in the past ten days! You owe me a minimum of three revised Heisenberg compensator upgraded designs!"

"So, put me on report!" he yelled back, which was a mistake on his part, for suddenly the headache that had been only unbearable turned into a horde of thundering Ophiucan wildery beasties trampling across his forehead straight down into his stomach. "I'm going to be sick!" He dashed to the bathroom.

"He's sick?" she whispered, looking at Barclay with an accusatory stare. "Why didn't you tell me? Why isn't he in sickbay?"

"Uh, Doctor, uh…"

The sound of Geordi vomiting silenced him.

Leah tapped her comm badge. "Sickbay."

Suddenly Barclay reached over and stilled her hand. "Don't. That is, uh, Doctor, uh, please don't call sickbay."

Furious that Barclay was interfering with her, she barked, "Why not?"

"I know what's wrong with, uh, Ge…Ge…Geo… that is Commander LaForge."

She grabbed her badge back. "What?"

"I'm n…n…not sure." Barclay's stuttering was getting worse.

Leah took a deep breath, walked over to a couch, and shoved off the books that were on it. Then she sat down, pointing to the cushion next to her. "Sit, Commander."  
Barclay sat.

"What's going on?" She shook her head. "And I'm not going to call Sickbay, for now."

Barclay relaxed a little. "I'm not sure."

"You already said that, Reg. Explain."

"I think that is has something to do with the loss of the Enterprise. Geordi, well, he's got a whole lot of guilt about that."

"Why?"

"The Duras sisters - they used Geordi's visor to get the shield frequencies. That's how they destroyed the Enterprise."

"That wasn't in the official published report."

"There was a lot that wasn't in the official public report, Dr. Brahms. Especially what happened to Geordi. Soran tortured him."

"Oh, Geordi. What they did to you," she whispered. For a moment she let herself feel. Then her defense shields were back in place. In a firm voice she stated, "So, Geordi blames himself. What's he been doing?"

Barclay looked nervously about the small room, his eyes becoming fixated on the replicator on the opposite beige wall.

Leah took Barclay's hand. "Reg, right now, this is just a conversation between two people who are close friends of Geordi. It is off the record. However, if you force me to order you to tell me what is going on, then our conversation will be on the record. You've given me the impression that this would not be what is best for Geordi."

"Uh, Doctor…"

"Trust me, Reg. I'm Geordi's friend too."

"The replicator."

"What?" She was puzzled by his statement.

"Geordi rigged it. Changed it."

"What do you mean by Geordi rigged it? For what?"

"Ale."

"The replicator is what ails him?"

Reg shook his head. "Ale! Blue ale!"

"What does that have to do with…"

Barclay interrupted her. "Na…na… not sy…sy… Hell, it's alcohol!"

Brahms paused for a second. "But the safeguards…" She glanced over at the bathroom door. "If there's anyone in Starfleet who can work his way around any safeguards, it's Geordi." She noticed an empty glass on the floor and reached down to pick it up. She sniffed it and then put it on a table. "There's no mention of a substance abuse problem in his records."

"He doesn't drink. Not often. Not even the synthehol stuff. Only lately - it's been kind of different." With a ferocity that surprised even himself, Reg cursed, "Those damn Klingons! What they destroyed… hurt…"

There was a noise from the bathroom. Then Geordi stumbled out. He didn't look very good, but at least he'd cleaned up.

He shook his head and looked at Leah. "God, you are here. I thought I'd been dreaming…" He lurched over to an armchair facing Leah and Reg. "I - I'm sorry, Dr. Brahms." He waved his hands blindly about. "This mess. I apologize. I drank too much last night," he sheepishly admitted.

"That's obvious," Leah tartly commented. "What are you going to do about it?"

Reg stood and went to the replicator. "Brazilian coffee. Hot. Triple strength. Triple sweet." When the mug appeared, he took it over to Geordi. "Answer the lady, Geordi," Reg commanded. 

"What are you going to do?"

Geordi drank his coffee, glanced over at Reg, and then slowly regarded Leah Brahms. "I've been an ass."

"That about sums it up, " Leah sarcastically replied.

Geordi shook his head, and then instantly regretted it. "What do I do now? Take some time off?"

"No shore leave for you unless you use it to seek help."

"Deanna's on Betazed," Reg piped up.

"Huh?" Geordi mumbled, trying to comprehend it all. His head was still too muddled to deal with too many complex issues all at once.

Leah came over to him, knelt down in front of him and placed her hands on his thighs.

His sudden shortness of breath had nothing to do with his night's excesses.

"I'll take you. We'll go to Betazed together, if that's what you need. Or, I can discreetly inquire about finding someone else."

"Starfleet…" Geordi mumbled, between the pauses of the throbbing in his head.

"One of the advantages of being a civilian in Starfleet is that I can do things without anybody questioning my actions or motives. And if I want to go check out the test labs at SB G-6, or a warp propulsion lab on Betazed, then it is my prerogative. And if I take my staff with me, Starfleet be damned. They won't say a word."

Geordi searched her face trying to understand why she was willing to do this. "You don't have to, Leah. I can take care of myself."

Leah just simply surveyed him from his eyebrows to his knees, then caustically commented, "I can see that you're doing a terrific job of it, Geordi. We'll go as soon as I can make the arrangements." She glanced over at Barclay. "You'll come with us. Contact Counselor Troi."

Geordi blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "But what about your husband? Won't he object when you go?"

Leah's smile was brilliant even as she scolded him. "You really should pay more attention to station gossip, Geordi. Or maybe ask the computer a pertinent question, now and then. I was divorced, more than a year ago."

"The man's a fool," Geordi commented more to himself than her.

She patted his cheek. "Go and get some rest, Mr. LaForge. We'll discuss this tomorrow. And don't be late for that staff meeting. 0800."

"I'll be early, Doctor," Geordi promised. Though he was still miserable and full of guilt, his universe was not quite as miserable a place as it had been a few minutes ago.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Will Riker relaxed and put his feet up on his J'naiian rosewood desk. He considered this act to be one of the privileges of his rank and position. Besides, the only other officer that could tell him to put down his feet was the Starbase commander, a Commander Vincent Junot. And Junot had his own rosewood desk.

Riker sighed, sipping his double-strong Kona java as he contemplated the shift that was just beginning. A sun and two moons could be seen rising through the small star portal that Will could call his own, as the space station turned.

Being the Commandant of the graduate studies flight school was an unusual experience for Riker. He'd never imagined himself as a teacher-cum-babysitter before. But he could understand why Starfleet had chosen him for this particular position. He'd once been a space jock. In fact, there were a few officers at Command who still thought that he was a space jock.  
He really understood these cadets; who they were. And he thought that he had a pretty good idea as to what it was that Starfleet wanted them to become. It was his responsibility to make sure that they were the best damn space jocks in the galaxy as well as simultaneously being officers too. He could teach them. He could do it.

Will had been their commandant for only nine weeks. He was surprised at how much he liked the job. But, this job would never take the place of being Number One.

He ordered up another cup of coffee from his personal replicator and idly thought of Deanna. He hadn't seen her since the wake. He'd chosen not to, because he nobly had wanted to give Worf the time alone with the lady. However, he did need shore leave. He mentally reviewed his schedule and decided that right after the mid-term exams, it would be the perfect time for it. It was time to go see Deanna.

Deanna…

He thought of the events leading up to the wake…


	3. The Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gathers to memorialize the Enterprise. And finally Jean-Luc and Beverly get around to dealing with their issues rather than just discussing them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say. I've written and rewritten this chapter quite a few times over the decades. At least to me, it still is a lot of fun. I hope that you will agree.

PART 3: The Wake  
All the usual disclaimers apply.

 

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Will tread lightly into the cabin he'd been assigned on the Farragut. Though the Farragut was Nebula-Class, she wasn't designed to accommodate comfortably, the lion’s share of refugees from the Enterprise-D. People had to share cabins. And Will Riker's suitemate was none other than Jean-Luc Picard.

Will had thought that it would be awkward at first. One more time, Jean-Luc Picard amazed his Number One. Picard was a polite, almost amiable roommate. If the circumstances had been different, Will might have almost liked having Picard sharing his quarters. Still, they both had to cope with their grief and loss.

The cabin door slid shut. Will paused for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the very dim lighting.

"I'm awake, Will." Picard's voice startled Riker. "You may turn up the lighting if you wish."

Riker turned toward where the voice was coming from which was a chair by the lone portal window. He looked upon a face awash with starlight and tears.

"Am I disturbing you, Sir?" Will was uncomfortable with seeing the man he respected most in the universe, in such a state.

Picard motioned toward the chair beside him. "Sit, Will. We've a few things to discuss." He wiped his eyes. "I was just remembering…"

"The Enterprise. I know, Sir, and understand."

"No, Will. I was actually thinking about my brother Robert and my nephew Rene." Picard looked over at Will. Even in the starlight, he could see his first officer's confusion.

"Sir?"

Picard laughed; a sad sound that spoke of a man having seen too much pain. He shook his head in mock disbelief. "I'm surprised at you, Will. Aren't captains supposed to be the center of their Number One's universe? I would have thought that you'd keep track of the ship's gossip more closely."

"Sir?" Now Will was truly confused, and feeling a little guilty. Obviously, he'd missed something important. He'd always listened to the ship's gossip concerning Picard, since as a first office he was supposed to know everything concerning his captain. He considered this odious task to be part of the duties of being Number One. It was just that during the last few days of the Enterprise, he'd simply not had the time to do so.

Picard stood and gazed out at the stars. "Rene and my brother Robert - they are dead…"

Riker gasped in shock.

"…It happened right before we met Soran."

More to himself than to Picard, Riker muttered, "So that was it…" He joined his captain, to gaze with him as the universe passed them by. He almost put his hand on Jean-Luc's shoulder. Will wanted, needed, to say something, to do something, but even after all these years, there were still some things that one did not do to Picard. At last he whispered, "I'm sorry, Sir. I know how much they meant to you."

Picard was silent for a moment; then he accepted Riker's condolences. "Don't take your family for granted, Will."

"I've learned that lesson, Captain."

"Call me Jean-Luc, Will. It's about time that you did so."

"Jean-Luc…" The name sounded strange crossing Will's lips.

"I would like to think that we are friends."

"Yes, Sir. We are, Jean-Luc."

Picard turned, and resumed his seat. Will followed. "Will, we have matters to discuss."

"You've heard from Starfleet Command? About the court-martial?" At no point did Riker reveal how nervous a man he was.

"I've just got done talking with Starfleet Command. You're not going to be court-martialed, Will."

Will's sigh of relief was audible. "Well, what do you know - miracles do happen." Will didn't mean to be sarcastic, but he'd been expecting the worst. And then he thought about it. "Who are they going to court-martial instead - you?"

"No."

Riker detected a certain gleam in Picard's glance. "What did you do, Jean-Luc?"

"Actually, you did it. Or rather, your record spoke for itself. It seems that Starfleet is viewing your actions as heroic. You saved hundreds of millions of lives, and though the Enterprise was lost, you did not have a single fatal casualty."

"Somehow, I don't feel so heroic."

"Well, in my eyes, you are. My final log as captain of the Enterprise stated that. The Admiralty concurred."

"Thank you, Sir. But, if Starfleet didn't want my head, why didn't they go after yours? It's characteristic for certain admirals to want to hold a public pillorying."

"Starfleet didn't want to face the public scrutiny of my having lost yet another starship, Will. Especially after the Borg. Certain admirals didn't want to have to explain why I had remained captain of the Enterprise-D."

"You think they really blame you?"

"Starfleet would rather not publicly blame anyone at this point. Oh, there will be the official boards of inquiry when we reach SB 74. But it will all be a mere formality."

"Jean-Luc, I was the acting captain when the Enterprise was destroyed. I will not permit Starfleet to punish you."

Picard shook his head. "Oh, they won't. We saved the lives of 250,000,000 beings. Not to mention preventing a weapon of devastating consequences from falling into the grips of the Romulans and the Klingons. Not even the admirals who are after your hide because of Pressman, or those who despise me because I was Locutus, want to publicly question our actions. Some admirals aren't that stupid."

Riker wondered why Picard wasn't sounding more relieved. "You've reservations, Jean-Luc?"

"Our enemies, and we both have acquired some, are still there, Will. Waiting."

Riker nodded. "We'll just have to watch each other's backs." Riker smiled when Picard eased back against his chair. "Would you have changed anything that you did?"

Picard smiled more to himself than in response to Will's question. "I did, Will."

He didn't have to look into Will's face to know that the man had questions. At this moment, Jean-Luc needed the company of a friend. And Riker was there for him.  
"It's a rather involved story, Will. One that did not get into my official report."

"I'd still like to hear about it. I had a feeling that there were a few things missing about the Nexus, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc abruptly stood and walked over to a number of boxes that had been stacked in a corner. They contained all that had survived of his personal items from the Enterprise. He scanned the labels for a second before he opened a box. A gasp of pleased surprised crossed his lips. "My Kurlan Naiskos."

"I found it in your ready room. Along with a flute, a thimble, and quite a few other things. I didn't think that you'd meant to leave it all behind."

Picard carefully lifted it out of the box. He was more touched by Riker's consideration than he wanted to reveal. With trembling fingers, he searched the surface for any new damage, picking up the lid, taking inventory of the figures within the Naiskos.

Riker walked over to him. "It's all there, Sir. Only a few more chips, I think."

"Thank you, Will."

Jean-Luc placed the Kurl masterpiece from the Tarquin Hills on the floor. He then moved another box and retrieved a bottle of wine - a Cabernet Sauvignon, '43, from Château Picard.

"This is what I wanted, Will. Apparently, it's the only bottle of my collection that survived the crash. It may be a little shaken, but it should be drinkable." He stood and looked at his Number One, studying the man who'd shared so much of his life over the past seven years. "It's about time you tasted some of my family's good French wine, Will."

Picard went over to the replicator. "Two Baccarat style red wine glasses," he ordered. "And a corkscrew." Picard carefully opened the wine bottle and poured. He handed a goblet to Will. "The Enterprise," he quietly stated, raising his glass.

Will stood and matched his captain's toast.

Picard sat back down, motioning for Will to do so as well. "Let me tell you about the Nexus, Will…" Picard propped a foot up against the star portal ledge. "I still don't quite believe all that happened…"

A long time later, his head full of tales of captains of the Enterprise and their derring-do, Will Riker went in search of Mr. Data. He found his friend in the quarters Mr. Data was sharing with Geordi and Reg. Data was alone.

After letting Riker into the cabin, Data went back to doing what had been occupying his time as of late - petting Spot.

"Spot's okay?" Riker politely asked, trying to avoid getting too close to the demon cat.

"Spot survived," Data replied, sitting down and still petting the cat. "Her offspring did not."

Riker ceased his restless movements about the cabin. "I'm sorry, Data."

"I am sorry too." Data lifted his head and looked at Will. He was crying. "It is quite odd, Commander. I feel sorrow. I cry. Yet, I am happy, too."

"Why, Data?"

" I feel, Commander. It is most peculiar having feelings. At last, I now have all sorts of feelings to analyze and categorize."

Things had happened too fast before, when Data had gained his emotions chip. Only now was Riker beginning to comprehend just how momentous an event this had been for Data.

Will sat down next to Data on a grey sofa.

"Data, I know that I should have said this before - but you are going to make a hell of a human being - better than most. I'm glad you can feel, Data."

Data looked at Riker, noting a strained look about his friend. He was viewing Riker through fresh eyes - eyes that now felt as well as analyzed. "Commander?"

"Yes, Data?"

"Once, when we first met, you referred to me as Tin Man. I recognized the reference then, but I never understood why you said it until recently."

Then he confounded Will by handing him Spot, before the man could figure out a way of refusing. Expecting the worst, Riker waited for the claws honed on his skin to unsheathe, and for his life's blood to pour out of his veins. Instead, Spot purred. Startled, almost dropping the Pah-wraith possessed cat, Riker gingerly reached behind Spot's ear and tentatively wiggled a finger. Spot purred again.

"You are not stroking her correctly," Data observed.

"What?" No female had ever complained about Will Riker's stroking before.

"You should employ at least two fingers, and move them thusly." Data demonstrated.

Riker copied Data. Spot nestled into the curve of Will's fingers. For a while, they both sat there; one man stroking a beast he'd often wished into perdition, and the other was a mechanical man who could smile with his heart.

"Data." Riker glanced over at his friend, looking a little sheepish. "I never meant to insult you. I was an arrogant, cocky bastard back then. I thought I knew everything. I didn't think it possible that one day I'd consider you to be my friend, much less one of my best friends."

"I know that, Commander. I now consider you to be one of my best friends, too."

Riker continued to stroke the cat, ignoring the clouds of shedding fur clinging to his uniform.

"Commander, I have been researching the appropriate behavior for responding to the loss of one's ship. I have studied various cultural responses and traditions."

"Yes, Data?"

"Humans should mourn, should not they?"

"Yes, we should mourn, Data."

Data removed Spot from Riker's grasp. Data may now have emotions, but he still was Data - ever curious. "And when we reach Starbase 74, we will no longer be one crew, will we, Commander?"

"Yes…" Will didn't like hearing Data's words even though they were the truth. "Starfleet won't keep up together. They can't."

"Then, we must properly mourn all that have gone before us, from Tasha Yar to the Enterprise-D. We must have closure."

"You have something in mind, Mr. Data?"

Data smiled. "I liked the Dixieland wake that you threw for Geordi LaForge and Ro Laren when we believed them to be dead."

For the first time during the past few days, Will Riker felt like laughing out loud. He slapped Data heartily on the back. This disturbed Spot. Spot scrambled off of Data's lap, and ran for cover under the couch.

"What a great idea, Data. A wake! For the Enterprise! We'll throw it at SB 74. Let's start making plans. I'll work on the details - you invite everyone involved with the ship. Let's throw a wake that will always be remembered!"

"Should we not consult Captain Picard?"

"I'll take care of Jean-Luc."

Data didn't inquire about Will's unexpected use of the captain's first name. But he was curious.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Late the next day, Jean-Luc was summoned to Captain Thomas Ozog's ready room. He was escorted into the room by an ensign.

"Captain Picard, I am Captain Thomas Ozog." The man stood, but did not extend his hand in greeting. "I apologize that I've not had time to greet you until now." Ozog didn't mention what had kept him from the courtesy of meeting with a fellow captain for almost four days.

Picard had noted the captain's actions, but made no comment. All he knew was that if their positions had been reversed, he would not have treated Ozog in the same manner that Ozog was now treating him. He tried not to view Ozog in too negative a light. "What can I do for you, Captain?" Picard settled into the chair opposite the captain's desk, without being invited. It was a subtle reminder as to which of the captains still had seniority.

"Admiral Nechayev wants to speak with you. I thought that you'd appreciate some privacy." Ozog swiveled the terminal screen toward Picard. He then walked to the door. "I'll have the admiral hailed immediately."

"Thank you," Picard politely responded as the ready room door slid shut.

He reached over and turned on the monitor. He was greeted by Admiral Nechayev's less than smiling face. "Admiral."

"Captain." She bestowed upon Picard a tight little smile. "Are you well?"

"I am fine, Admiral. And you?"

"Fine, too." She glanced down at a padd on her desk. "I see that you've applied for compassionate leave. A family problem?"

"The deaths of my brother and nephew. I have to help my sister-in-law Marie."

For a moment she did not respond. "I'm sorry, Jean-Luc. I did not know."

"Thank you, Admiral. As for the purpose of your call?"

"Not the diplomat today, eh, Jean-Luc? Well, I want to talk with you."

"Forgive me, Admiral. I did not mean to be presumptuous."

"But you always are. No matter. Jean-Luc, over the past few years, I've discovered that you are the one captain that I can truly admire." With this statement, she shut up.

It took Jean-Luc a few seconds before he realized that she no longer was conversing with him. She didn't help matters any by being entertained by the fact that her words had confounded him. More seconds passed before she finally added, "You're a starship captain."

"Admiral?" He didn't let her see his inner confusion.

"You're the best damn starship under my command."

"Admiral, I do…."

She didn't let him finish. "I resented that fact at first, you know. You didn't fit my ideas of what a fine starship captain should be. But, and this may surprise you, Jean-Luc, I do learn from my mistakes. And so do you."

"Admiral Nechayev…"

"Jean-Luc. Starfleet needs good starship captains. And you are the best there is."

"Thank you, Admiral. Obviously, you wish to make a point. What is it?"

"Take a long leave of absence. I know you like archaeology. I do too. I've read your paper on Tagus III - not that I agree with all of your illogical assumptions."

"They weren't all assumptions, Admiral. I did exacting research…"

She interrupted him. "Go visit some ruins."

"Be frank, Admiral. Please."

"I've already said it, Jean-Luc. You're a good starship captain. More importantly, you are my starship captain. And if you ever want to be a starship captain again, you will take a very long leave of absence. Starting right now."

"What has happened?"

"At the moment, the only posting the Admiralty would order for you would be retirement, Jean-Luc. It would be prudent for you to not remind them of your presence for a while. I don't want to lose you." She correctly interpreted Jean-Luc's shocked expression. "I mean every word I say, Jean-Luc. We may not be friends, but I think that over the past few years an arrangement has been reached between us. I may be a Starfleet bureaucrat, but I am not quite the cold-hearted politician you once accused me of being."

"I don't recall saying those specific words to you, Admiral."

"You didn't have to say it out loud."

"Admiral…"

"Don't apologize, Jean-Luc."

"I wasn't going to, Madam."

She smiled again. He shifted uneasily in his chair. He was unaccustomed and uneasy about seeing Admiral Nechayev smiling so much.

"Listen to me, Captain. I order you to one day share tea and Bularian canapés with me - as my starship captain again."

"Thank you, Admiral." He didn't understand her motives, but he would heed her warnings.

"Oh, Jean-Luc?"

"Yes, Admiral?"

"Commander Quinteros has brought to my attention the matter of Riker's party. He wanted to know if I'd officially sanction it."

Picard did not betray to the Admiral that this was the first he was hearing about Commander Riker's plans. "Will you, Admiral?"

"Tell Riker that I will authorize his get-together on one condition."

"And that is?"

"He'd better send me an invitation immediately."

"I will convey your message to Commander Riker, Admiral."

"I will see you in a few days, Jean-Luc."

When the screen went blank, Picard whapped his comm badge. "Picard to Riker."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Report to the senior officer's conference lounge - immediately." Picard was not about to impose upon the hospitality of Ozog's ready room for a second longer.

The next few days were busy, as most of the Enterprise's former personnel from the Farragut as well as the other rescue ships were transferred to quarters on SB 74.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Captain Picard, after he was settled into his new quarters, found himself engaged with the displacement of his crew. Order after order crossed over his padd about the reassignments of his people. With a detached soul, he attended to the details, as he said farewell on an individual basis to the people whose lives he'd held in his hand for over seven years.  
He found it disturbing to say goodbye. It was as if his soul was diminished with each farewell.

Two hours before the wake was supposed to begin, the travel orders for one Dr. Beverly Cheryl Howard Crusher came across his padd.

For a moment he merely absorbed the words and attended to the official details. As he had always done, he would deal with his personal feelings at a later time.

Skilled at doing what he had to do when it was the last thing that he wanted to do, Jean-Luc Picard walked over three decks to the quarters that Beverly shared with Deanna. Along with Riker, he was supposed to escort the ladies to the wake.

He met Riker in the corridor.

"Ready, Captain?" Riker cheerfully asked.

"No." The look he gave Riker would have sent a lesser man away, quaking in his dress regulation boots. Instead, Riker's grin broadened.

"Come on, Jean-Luc. We're about to spend the night with two lovely ladies, a considerable amount of wine and ale, and our friends. If you have to go, what way could be better than this?"

Picard's grimace did not pass as a smile.

When they reached the ladies' quarters, it was Riker who rang the bell.

Privately, Picard thought that if Riker started whistling, he'd lead the charge to court-martial the man. Still mulling over what he'd discovered about Beverly, he was decidedly not in the mood for any festivities, much less a wake for the U.S.S. Enterprise 1701-D.

When the door opened, Deanna greeted them. Knowing that he could not conceal the state of his emotions from his Counselor, Jean-Luc instead assumed the attitude of a commanding officer who was not going to permit himself to be questioned.

Deanna moved aside, her rose-shaded-to-murrey chiffon skirt swirling about her ankles. She glanced sharply over at her captain and acknowledged his mood with a stiff nod.

"Captain. Commander."

"You look sensational, Deanna," Riker stated, loving what he saw.

"Thank you, Will." She eyed him in his formal dress coat. "You are quite handsome, yourself." She inspected her captain. "Captain, my mother once gave me some words of wisdom about men in military dress uniforms. I think tonight, I'll follow her advice for a change." Then Deanna looked expectantly toward the bedroom door.

As if on cue, Beverly emerged.

Will uttered a stunned gasp. For Beverly was wearing an opalescent aurene gown with a tissue overlay skirt. It clung and flowed with her every movement. The color gradation changed with   
every nuance of her mood.

Riker gulped. On certain worlds, such fashion was described as a paint dress for it clung to the wearer as if it were literally painted onto the woman's body - in all the right places.

"Fantastic…" Will commented, momentarily reminded of a passionate Beverly that he had once all-too-briefly known.

For a fleeting instant, Jean-Luc forgot everything as he was lost in the glory of Beverly's smile, and the vision that was before him. She was even more beautiful than he could imagine.  
And then he remembered her betrayal. His instinctive answering responses died in his throat. Instead of making a proper - or improper - gentlemanly remark about her loveliness, he turned and faced Deanna, ignoring Beverly.

"Shall we go?"

A wall of anger followed by a sense of hurt and betrayal slammed into Deanna's mind. For a moment she was disoriented trying to sort through the captain's jumble of barely controlled emotions; to understand why he felt such anger.

Deanna turned and shoved Beverly towards the door. "You go ahead, Beverly. Captain. I need Will to help me with something before I'm ready to go." Under her breath she ordered, "Beverly, leave!"

Not quite sure as to what Deanna wanted, Beverly walked into the corridor. Reluctantly, Jean-Luc followed, having no desire to be alone with his lady.

Silently he walked down the corridor toward the lift. Beverly trailed him, her anger growing in tandem to his, her dress changing from gold to purple rage. She didn't begin to understand what crime he thought she had done.

The moment the doors closed behind them a worried counselor asked, "Will, what's wrong with the Captain? Such anger - it's all focused on Beverly and it is personal!"

"I don't know, Deanna. Maybe it's a delayed reaction to the Enterprise crashing - and everything else that has happened."

"Well, stay with him tonight. He's losing control. And how often have I ever said that about the man? He's in a strange mood - a dangerous mood."

In the lift, Beverly stood next to the man she had considered a friend - a close friend - for many years. And she didn't understand why he was so upset with her. All she knew was that when Jean-Luc was this angry, he turned bitter cold. And she didn't like being the recipient of his unjustified displeasure at all. Her dress palette was shifting from purples to blues.

"What is wrong, Jean-Luc?"

He ignored her, for he wasn't yet prepared for a confrontation. They then arrived at the deck where the party was being held, walking silently into the ballroom side by side.

For a moment he stood still, trying to adjust to the lowered lighting. And then he stopped, staring at what was on the walls. Highlighted by spots against twinkling indigo black walls, were all of the models of the starship Enterprise, rescued and repaired from the observation deck. Somehow Riker had achieved the impossible.

And then Picard turned around. Only years of strict discipline kept him from overtly reacting. For suspended overhead and toward the back wall was his portrait of the U.S.S. Enterprise 1701-D, against a blanket of stars.

Beverly leaned against him, wiping away more tears - tears that had been too ready to fall during the past few days.

"I'm going to miss her," she whispered.

"Beverly, she was only a ship…"

She stiffened, surprised by his sober choice of words.

"Doctor, it is the people that matter. Fortunately, we survived." Jean-Luc reached over and brushed away a few tears from her cheek. And at this moment, he didn't remember why he was angry with her. "We survived." His fingers lingered an instant, brushing against the velvet of her cheek. "You are so beautiful…"

But before Beverly could respond, Mr. Data intruded. "Thank you for coming," Data said, with the politeness that was still his second nature in spite of the addition of the emotions chip.

Picard raised an eyebrow. "You are the official greeter, Mr. Data?"

"Yes, Captain. And now that you are here, you can join me in the receiving line for all of the admirals."

"Admirals?" Picard was suddenly wary. He had thought that only Nechayev would be attending the wake.

"Yes, Sir. Admirals Haden and Haftel have already arrived. Admirals Walker, Aron, David, Gregory and Nakamura are due shortly."

"And Admiral Nechayev?"

"She is dancing with Gowron."

"Gowron?" Picard tried to ignore a feeling of foreboding. "You do mean Council Leader, Chancellor Gowron of the Klingon Empire?"

"Yes, Captain." Data nodded toward the band that was playing in the far corner. "Some of Commander Riker's musician associates arrived early and have already played two sets." Data guided Picard and Crusher to the dais table that had been reserved for senior officers.

"Perhaps you had best take me to Gowron."

Data would have complied, but Deanna, Will and Geordi joined them at the table.

"You really outdid yourself, Mr. Data." Deanna looked about the ballroom and then up at the canopy of stars. "How did you get the stars to glow so realistically?"

"Holograms, Counselor" He noticed Deanna's décolleté. "You look charming, Commander Troi. Please reserve a space on your dance card for me." Suddenly feeling that he might have made a faux pas, he added, "And naturally, Doctor, you too as well. I would not want to forget my favorite dance…" Mr. Data correctly interpreted the Doctor's warning glare. "…er, partner."

Deanna blinked. "Dance card?"

Beverly leaned over and whispered, "I'll explain later."

Further discussion was abruptly halted when Riker was attacked by a really, really big Klingon. Riker was lifted up in the air, and tossed as if he were a bag of Nasreldian tubers against the iron strong chest of an even bigger Klingon.

Having all the air hugged out of his lungs was not conducive to idle conversation - or to living.

"You've grown soft, Hu-man," the Klingon chortled.

"So have you, Klag!" Riker retorted, suddenly shifting and using the one leg that could touch the floor as a brace. Then he was shoved forward, low, against Klag's torso, and managed to topple him backwards in the arms of Worf.

Worf grabbed Klag into a hammerlock and looked down at the gasping-for-breath First Officer crumpled on top of the Klingon.

"Is he a friend, Commander? Or shall I toss this Romulan-lover into the nearest garbage disposal unit?"

Riker slowly stood up, not wanting to admit that more bones were aching now than would have ached seven years ago on the IKS Pagh.

"Klag! It's good to see you." Riker charged and kicked the other Klingon who'd attacked him, in the knees. "And you too, Captain Kargan!"

Suddenly, three very large Klingons were trying to make a Riker sandwich.

Picard politely tapped Data on the shoulder. "Do something, Commander."

A moment later, two of the three, were dangling by the scuff of their spiny necks from Data's upraised arms.

Worf helped Riker up off of the floor.

"Commander, your jacket is torn," Mr. Data observed. "What should I do with these Klingons?

"Join us in a drink?" Riker suggested.

Data dropped the cursing Klingons.

They both came over to Riker and cheerfully pounded him rather hard, on the back.

"Lead on, Hu-man!" Klag roared.

"Klag, you old Denebian slime devil."

"Captain Klag to you, Hu-man!" Klag snarled.

With great pride Captain Kargan announced, "Klag is captain of my wing ship, the P'Rang ."

Kargan reached over and grabbed Riker's pips. Fabric ripped. "You should have stayed under my command, Hu-man. You'd be a captain too."

Picard joined them. "Introduce us, Commander."

Riker nodded. "You've only talked with these warriors before, Captain." He formally stated, "Captain Picard, may I introduce Captain Kargan and Captain Klag of the Klingon Defense Force."

Picard offered his greetings.

"And my brother, Captain Kurn," Worf added.

Suddenly Worf was being mashed up into a big targ hug. "Brother! You're a Commander!" Kurn shouted. And then he dropped Worf, watching Worf bounce a little, before turning to Picard. "What took so long?"

Gowron joined them, flanked by four of his guard, effectively cutting short Kurn's interrogation. Gowron noticed something. "What's this?" the Imperial ruler of the Klingon Empire bellowed, pointing toward a door.

Nine Klingons stood there, bearing a large metal keg on their shoulders. Gowron turned to Klag. "More. You should have brought more bloodwine!"

Fourteen more Klingons stood there, bearing a much larger metal keg on their shoulders.

Kargan gruffly declared, "My contribution to the ceremony - firewine."

"Good." Gowron nodded towards the kegs. "Now we can begin."

Picard leaned over, hiding his worry. "Explain, Mr. Worf."

"The Klingon transition ceremony of leave-taking. It must be done for the Enterprise since I was the senior security officer on board her."

Mr. Data added, "The Klingons sing a formal farewell. It is their freeing of the spirit ceremony for fallen comrades and ships that have passed with great honor. They drink and feast, recollecting days of glory. I felt it only appropriate that the Klingons who have played such an important part in the Enterprise's history, should be invited to the wake."

Picard tried not to blanch. Then he turned to Gowron, noting that Admiral Nechayev as well as several other admirals, had joined their group.

"I thank you for the honor that you do my ship, Chancellor Gowron."

Gowron crashed his hand rather hard against Picard's chest. Picard withstood the blow.

"For the Enterprise and for you, Captain Picard." Knowing that he had an attentive audience, and always loving to stir things up, Gowron suggested, "Leave Starfleet, Picard. Come join me. I would make you an admiral with a Vor'cha battle cruiser as your ship. Hu-man you have a Klingon heart."

For a second, Jean-Luc let his gaze travel over the admirals who hovered near Gowron. Then he responded to the offer. "Thank you, Gowron. I am honored. But, I will remain a Starfleet officer."

Gowron turned and raised his hand, silencing the ever-increasing congregation of Klingons that had been crowing about them. Midst the crowd his attendants were passing about wine. One of them handed Gowron a goblet.

Another goblet of blood wine was thrust into Picard's hands. All of the admirals around him also received the Klingon specialties.

Gowron nodded at Picard, saying nothing.

Worf leaned over and whispered to Picard, "You must make a toast."

Picard stepped forward. The room fell silent. Picard hated this. He hated every moment; the eyes staring at him, the pity other eyes contained. But most of all he despised those words - the words that he must say, the words that would finalize the most horrific of all truths - he had lost his ship. 

The Enterprise was gone.

He lifted his goblet, revealing none of his inner turmoil. He even managed a smile, as he spoke words from a grievously wounded heart.

"The Enterprise. Her crew."

There was nothing more to be said. Other toasts were chorused. The official wake had begun.

About an hour later, Picard was in a strange mood; an uncharacteristic mood. He'd spent the evening alternating between various degrees of anger and annoyance over Beverly. But adding fuel to his displeasure was the way Beverly was acting tonight. She was dancing - with everyone. And wearing a dress that seemed to become more provocative with each passing minute.  
Emboldened by the wine she'd been drinking, Beverly finally decided to approach her captain.

"Dance with me, Jean-Luc. One dance before I leave?"

"Ah yes, your leaving, Doctor."

She pulled him into a tight embrace for a slow dance. Her dress glowed cherry red.

"What do you mean, my leaving, Jean-Luc?"

"Were you going to even bother to say goodbye? Or was I going to be presented with a fait accompli like the last time you left me?"

"Jean-Luc, what are you talking about?" Her dress was turning purple again.

"Captain Romanoff sends his regards. He's awaiting your arrival aboard the U.S.S. Harriman Nelson." She didn't refute his words. Suddenly he was tired of everything and everyone. He turned and just walked off the dance floor, leaving her standing there. He didn't care if anyone noticed.

Beverly ran after him, grabbing his arm near the shrubbery that flanked the side of the dance floor. Her dress was glowing a flame red. She ducked under a dark green spear of several tall, spiky leaf Janaran Falls bromeliads.

"Jean-Luc! What is the matter with you? What is going on?" Beverly hissed. Unfortunately, her righteous indignation over his actions was undercut when strands of red hair became entangled on some spiny points. It is hard to appear dignified when a Betazoid pineapple is trying to knit with a lady's hair.

"Stop struggling!" Picard hissed back when he took pity on Beverly's increasing plight. "You're only making it worse!"

Neither one noticed Worf and Data approaching and then observing them. Softly Data asked Worf, "Is the doctor entangling her hair on purpose?"

Worf considered the question. "Human females? Possibly." He paid closer attention to his two superior officers hissing back and forth at each other. "Probably." It was unusual behavior for both of them.

Suddenly Beverly grabbed Jean-Luc's forearm and shoved him out a pair of swinging doors hidden behind the flora. The former captain of the Enterprise stumbled, but go he did. Picard didn't wish to make a scene. Neither combatant noticed the interested bystanders.

However, voices raised in argument, could still be heard on the other side of the doors. Data, with his superior hearing, did not do what others might consider eavesdropping. Data called it observing human behavior.

"Mr. Worf. The Captain and the Doctor appear to be having a heated discourse over the Doctor's departure. The attitude of their discussion is atypical for them." Data stepped closer to the swinging doors. "They appear to be speaking in anger." Data listened another few seconds. "They are now quiet. Conversation has ceased."

"Do they need our assistance?" Worf asked.

Calculating the possibilities, Data peeked through a crack between the two doors. "It is all right, Commander. They are osculating." Data walked back over to Mr. Worf, side-stepping several waving branches. "I did not know that the Captain and the Doctor did that. Together, that is. Though there was considerable speculation about them doing it. I had heard persistent reports during every tour of duty that they were so inclined. And I have calculated the odds for the betting pools on many occasions."

Worf found Data difficult to understand at times. This was one of those times.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Worf?" Riker politely asked, waving his mug of Romulan ale in the general direction of some tropical trees, as he joined them.

Privately, the only problem that Mr. Worf could identify was the fact that Will Riker had his other arm tightly around Deanna Troi's waist.

"No, Commander." Worf nodded at Deanna. "Commander." Right now, he was living up to his poker nickname - the Ice Man.

"Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher are osculating," Mr. Data politely informed his fellow officers.

It is to Will Riker's credit and the superb training that all Starfleet officers undergo, that Will Riker only spilled his beer all over the front of his torn dress uniform. At least he didn't get any sticky ale on Deanna.

Trying to appear to be a serious, dignified officer even as driblets of beer dripped off of one's beard, is a difficult task. Will Riker didn't even come close to accomplishing it.

"Mr. Data, were you spying on Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher?" Deanna didn't want to be accusatory, but Data's behavior indicated otherwise. Clearly Data was under the influence of questionable associates. She glared at Will.

"No, Commander." Data watched Worf. "Commander Worf, would you call what I did spying? I had not considered that my actions could be viewed in that context. I thought that I was eavesdropping."

"Commander Data did not spy, Commander. He is concerned about the well-being of our captain. And Dr. Crusher." Worf appeared to be warming up. "Their behavior is unusual."  
Before Riker could further interrogate his officers, Gowron joined them. "Where's Picard? He must lead the chorus!"

Worf stepped forward and formally stated, "Captain Picard is osculating. He is engaged in Sehloh."

Gowron tried to mouth the word osculate.

There was a cry from behind the doors.

Worf explained with great pride, "My Captain is honoring our customs, Gowron. He is celebrating the freeing of his ship's spirit with Dr. Crusher. They will not be disturbed. I will not allow it."

"Mating, eh, with the flame-haired female?" Gowron roared with laughter. "I knew I chose well for my Arbiter of Succession. He has a Klingon warrior's heart with the fires of Kahless filling his loins."

No one quite knew what to say about Gowron's assessment of Captain Picard.

Gowron continued to laugh as he walked off to join the other singing Klingons, to inform them of the honor that Picard was paying to all Klingon warriors.

Deanna looked at Worf. And then looked at Will. They both had silly masculine grins on their faces. "MEN!" She was disgusted by all of them. "Just because Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher are having a private conversation…"

"At strong decibel levels," Data mentioned.

"…with each other, does not mean that they are…" Deanna abruptly stopped speaking. For she was now sensing something new. She couldn't have stopped her blush if her life depended upon it. "Will…"

"Yes, Deanna?" Will still had a big grin plastered across his face.

She stepped out of Riker's embrace, and elbowed him in the ribs. "Go change your uniform. You stink." She turned to Mr. Data, ignoring Worf. "Shall we dance, Mr. Data?"

"Is the appropriate response - I have waited my entire lifetime to have someone ask me that question - Deanna?" He winked at her.

It took Deanna a moment to realize that Data was flirting with her. And then she sensed something else from him - he was teasing her. Her smile grew warm as she reacted in delight over perceiving more of Data's feelings.

"I think I have waited all my life to have you dance with me, dear Mr. Data," she replied in kind. She ignored both of her commanders as she fox trotted off with Data.

"Women!" Riker cursed under his breath, as he headed for the closest exterior door. Worf watched Data guide Deanna expertly around the parquetry dance floor.

"Commander." He halted Will's exit. "I think I finally understand what you mean. I shall treat Deanna differently - like a Klingon female." Worf wasn't quite sure how to interpret Commander Riker's raucous laughter as he left.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

On a crystal bridge way, beneath the starlight, far from the madding crowd - most of whom were dancing at the wake - one human male was slowly strolling next to one human female. They were almost holding hands. And trying to find a way to talk about what had just happened between them. It wasn't easy. They'd spent too many years becoming too adept at sidestepping their private issues. They'd honed to a fine art the ability to avoid any truly personal confrontation.

Now, they had to face the fact that only minutes before they'd been kissing with such passion in a public corridor, inside a public starbase, with an abandonment more akin to flaring hormonal teenagers than two mature, adult Starfleet officers. Add to this the fact that Picard had even gone so far as to raise Beverly's skirts as their hunger grew. Only the none-too-subtle coughing of Woody Nakamura had stopped Picard's advances.

Woody hadn't helped matters any by commenting as he passed by, "Just getting a breath of air, Johnny. I didn't see thing; not a thing." He then nodded toward the lady. "Beverly. Scarlet garters. Nice."

Beverly's dress was now a shade of ruby mortification. Her face acquired an even darker hue. Now, standing under stars which once they had warped past, the two star-crossed would-be lovers had to deal with their here and now.

There was no ship between them. No Jack. No Wesley. No Nella. None of the thousands of other excuses both had used over the years for keeping their safe distance from each other.

Beverly broke the silence. The color of her dress was changing. "Your place or mine?" In spite of her recent embarrassment over her actions as well as coping with his unexpected, overwhelming fiery response, her voice contained a hint of admiring laughter.

"Now is not a good time to demonstrate your infamous sense of humor," Jean-Luc warned.

"Actually, I cannot think of a more appropriate time to have a sense of humor than right now, Jean-Luc. Can you?"

He stopped and leaned against the transparent aluminum observation wall.

"Doctor."

She placed her forefinger against his lips, shushing him. "No, Jean-Luc. No doctor or captain or Starfleet between us tonight. You are just Jean-Luc. Me, I am simply Beverly. She tapped her finger against his lips. "Understand?"

"Yes, Beverly." He did understand.

"Good. Now, answer my question."

"Which is?"

"Your place or mine." She thought for a second. "No, forget that." He froze. "We'll go to your quarters. You're bound to have been assigned better rooms than mine - without a nosy roommate." His body melted into hers. "Lead the way, Jean-Luc."

"The wake…"

"Don't you dare tell me that you were having a good time…"

"You were…"

"Well, that's true. I love dancing. I'd have liked it even better if I'd been dancing with you most of the night. Anyway, you are trying to divert me, so stop it." She just had to kiss him.

"Beverly…"

She lifted up his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss against his palm, and then nipping every trembling finger tip.

"You were saying, Jean-Luc?"

It took every bit of his will power to answer her. "This way." Not even wanting to consider the possible foolishness of this move, Jean-Luc guided Beverly down several corridors, still holding   
her hand. He stopped when they reached his door, silver grey, in an angled wall of neutral tan. In the night lighting of the corridor she stood there looking as if she were draped in vibrant, passionate, breathing dark flames.

"This isn't what I'd envisioned, Beverly."

"So you did think about us together. Good."

"Too often." He looked down at her hand, still entrapped between his fingers. "Don't flirt with me, madam. Not tonight."

"Why not tonight?"

"Tonight, I am not as you know me. Tonight, I have only dangerous desires. Exigencies. Tonight, I do not even want to remember that you are leaving in the morning."

She brought his hand back to her lips. "You've always been a danger to me, Jean-Luc. These circumstances change nothing."

She kissed his palm again.

"Ah, but tonight, Beverly, I will honor no boundaries, follow no rules of civilized conduct. You once told me that you were afraid of what we could mean to each other; that you were frightened of what we could become. Perhaps you were right then, and not now. What we learned from the KesPrytt - what if that is what is truly valid?"

She brought his hand to her face, guiding his fingers against the line of her cheek. "Jean-Luc, I only told Captain Romanoff that I would consider the post on the Nelson. I never said yes. He assumed too much from our conversation. I guess he wanted me."

"Now that is something I can understand." He unconsciously breathed a sigh of deep relief. Beverly wasn't going to leave him just yet.

She mistook his silence. "Jean-Luc."

He perceived her fears. It was his turn to bring her hand to his lips. He kissed the smooth skin and then carefully chose his future.

"Come, Beverly."

Her hand rested lightly against him. Only the trembling of her fingers revealed how frightened she was of this next step. Yet, she was also excited beyond measure as well. For a second, she   
remembered the taste of his lips against her mouth; the feel of his tongue impressing hers. She knew there was danger here with him; a danger to herself, to her heart, to her sanity. And the peril wouldn't vanish just because she gave in to her desires tonight. But she'd think about all of that tomorrow.

There was a spark of something in his eyes; something that forced an answering response in her. "Jean-Luc", she whispered, not sure of what should come next.

He stepped inside his quarters which were definitely not the most luxurious suite in the station. "Lights, thirty percent," he ordered.

She glanced about the room, but didn't notice the ambassador grey sameness to almost every item in the room. Only a vase of bright yellow tulips added any color at all.

"This should not be happening," she said.

"But it is," he said. He closed the gap between their mouths, kissing her softly, tenderly; openmouthed.

She moved her hands up to his shoulders, and readily came into his embrace. Her slender fingers played against the nape of his neck as she bowed her body into his. She was wanting, now. This need was familiar. Moaning when his lover's kiss turned into a mating dance, equal portions of fear and desire engulfed her body, welling like an icy torrent through her veins. She shivered, breaking away.

"It's cold in here," she declared, taking a blind step back.

Escape…

No escape…

He drew her back against his chest, wrapping his arms warmly about her.

"No." His hands moved about her, coming across her softness, her warmth. "No, Beverly, it will not be cold in here tonight."

She turned her head and rested it against his heart, and closed her eyes. One gentle hand rested against the top of her head, smoothing some of the strands back into place that had lost their way over the evening's festivities.

"Forgive me," she finally stated.

"For what?"

She felt his cheek press against her hair.

"For this," she said, and kissed his cheek. "And this," she whispered as she stood on her toes to kiss the top of his head. "And this," she sighed as she pressed a kiss against his left temple.   
"And this," she added, experimenting with her tongue, brushing against his lips. She felt his arms tighten about her as he turned into the kiss. She moaned.

"Jean-Luc…" She threw her head back, her eyes fluttering close, as his mouth moved from her lips down to the hollow of her throat. His hands found no difficulty in pushing away the silken material of her bodice. 

Her mouth opened in a silent cry and then her fingers curled against his neck.

She realized in that moment that for all the knowledge and experience of sensual matters, both practical and clinical that she had, nothing had prepared her for this rush of feelings. She now knew why she'd both feared and been fascinated by this man since the very first moment that she ever seen him so many years ago. More by instinct than by knowledge, she fell against the room's only sofa, a darker grey piece with serviceable long-wearing upholstery. Jean-Luc followed her down, his face above hers again, his eyes searching her own.

"Last chance," he warned, his honor waging war with the demands of his body.

At that moment, she could not imagine loving him more. "That was several minutes ago." She corrected whatever misconception he might be considering by lowering the shoulder straps of her changeling gown.

"Beverly…" he groaned against the velvet smooth valley between her breasts. For a moment he breathed her perfume. He'd always identified this scent with her, in his mind.

She could hear his heart beating as he pressed against her. They were alone together - very alone in the night, and very close to each other. She felt him against her, muscles relaxing then tensing as his body continued to battle with his mind. She thought of many things as she waited for him to decide. She would not be the only seducer this night. He would have to cross the Rubicon as willingly as she.

He rolled suddenly, pulling her against him with such an effort that she forced the breath from his lungs when she whomped against his chest. Now, she was on top of him, lying parallel to the plush cushions.

She found her mouth on his, open, being plundered. She pressed herself against him, answering back his stroking, dragging her fingers against his tunic closure, searching for the releases. She pushed against his sleeves, until she could feel his bare, hairy skin against her. And when he rolled them both to the side, she pulled his jacket down. He lifted up a moment to slide the offending garment away from them both.

And then she was pulled against his chest, cool air touching the skin that he was exposing on her body, tugging her gown away. Other clothing flew off of their bodies, joining their first offerings wherever they landed.

His hands moved between his body and hers, moving hard over her skin. His mouth roamed over her ivory throat, and then below.

Startled by the rapidly demanding nature of his actions, she knew he was reaching a point where he could not control himself. She only had two choices - to acquiesce, or to be an active participant. She wasn't going to let Jean-Luc in days to come, believe that he'd been the only one doing the seducing. She wrapped her legs about him, kneeling on top of him.

He protested her movements by nipping her.

She twined herself against him, feeling the roughness of his leg hairs. His mouth returned to her breast, driving her almost to a sublime madness. Her hands reciprocated by pushing against his ribs through his hairy chest.

His hands threaded through her hair, bring her head back up to his. "Beverly," he groaned. Her only option was to take him. Reaching down to meet him, shoving her weight against his body, she straddled him, letting her body ravish him too.

They joined.

It was too much. He ejaculated.

Moments later, her heart thumping erratically in her bosom, she felt him relax. She thought of all the things a woman should do in this situation. Instead, she did the one thing she shouldn't do - and the one thing that he should have expected.

She laughed. Lightly, ironically, more in humor at herself than against him. After all this time, the imaginings, the dreamings, the sexual speculations, she now had her answer.

He was a man, after all. Just as susceptible as the next.

"You find me funny, doctor?" Guilt mingled with the recognition that Beverly was behaving rather true to her nature. He was trying very, very hard not to feel indignation.

"You are not funny at all. What I find funny are all those stories about legendary French lovers."

He truly didn't know how to reply, for she did have a point. At the moment, he was the one who'd had a momentary satisfaction. She hadn't. Another man might have been mortally wounded. Jean-Luc on the other hand, courtesy of the KesPrytt, had a pretty good idea as to the way Beverly's mind worked. He knew that she'd be willing to give him a chance to make amends.

"Doctor, that tongue of yours is going to get you into more trouble, tonight."

"That's one promise I will make you keep."

His traced his hand over her flank, picking away pieces of her changeling dress that still adhered to her skin. Its last color had been flame. 

"I apologize, Beverly."

"For something specific, or for men in general?" Her mirthful sapphire gaze caught his attention. He was beginning to consider her to be far more dangerous than he had previously hoped.

"For not telling you how spectacular you looked tonight. I was remiss. You were magnifique, mon coeur."

"Were? Not are?"

He smiled. "You'll get no meaningless flattery from me. When I speak of your distinctions, you'll know that I mean it."

"Well, speak away, Jean-Luc."

He slapped her left buttock. "I'd rather demonstrate," he explained. "Question my heritage, would you?" he swore, under his breath. "You'll pay." He slid from underneath her, and stood. 

Before she could stop him, he scooped her up, carrying her into the bedroom.

"Jean-Luc, put me down! I'm way too heavy for you to carry!"

He looked down into her face and agreed. "You're right, Beverly. But, I need the exercise. If you stop squirming, I think I should be able to carry you a few meters without dropping you. You wouldn't want me to drop you, would you?"

Beverly heeded his warning. What surprised her though, was that he carried her past an orangish red and brown bed in an olive and grey bedroom, and took her straight into an ugly salmon pink bathroom.

"Now, you'll see why I chose these quarters, and it was not for the color scheme," Jean-Luc explained, as he placed her on a marble bench. "Whenever I'm at SB 74, I always order these   
quarters, in the old section." He turned away from her. "Computer, draw a bath, water temperature at thirty-five degrees Celsius. Add some Vulcan contemplation salts."

Beverly stood and moved aside some filmy gilded curtains. "This isn't a bathtub - it's a swimming pool." She fanned her fingers against the cool sand pink to grey striated marble panels of the ledge, before sitting down.

Jean-Luc knelt before Beverly and picked some more of the paint dress off of her knees.

"I believe that I've removed all of the fabric still clinging to your body. Now, I'll work on the remaining paint." He raised his eyes up to meet her gaze. "And Beverly, if you wish to attract my attention in the future, dispense with the paint. Not that I won't enjoy removing it, now. But speaking strictly as a Frenchman and a connoisseur, I prefer silk and perfume."

"Duly noted, Jean-Luc. For future reference. But what makes you think that I would want to attract your attention again?" She smiled down at him, rather liking the way he was watching her. 

"Now what do you suggest to change my mind? Hmmm….?"

"Something about your satisfaction, I think. I won't have you continuing to cast aspersions on my ancestry."

Something about the way he said it warned Beverly. But instead of protesting, she warily watched him, waiting for his next move. He didn't disappoint.

Standing, trying not to overtly react to her perusal of his body, he stepped into the pool. Dark waters with an odd but not unpleasant scent, swirled about as he guided Beverly to a water covered ledge. He moved below her, sinking onto a lower shelf.

"I shall draw pleasure from you, mon coeur. And give you infinite pleasure in return. This is my promise." He grinned, a silly smile, knowing that his words were melodramatic and quite out of character for him. But Beverly had to learn that there were facets to his nature other than just that of a too-serious Starfleet officer. He could play, too.

The intensity of his hazel gaze convinced her that he could be properly romantic when necessary. But she was finding it difficult to believe that he was saying such things to her. She idly wondered what he was quoting.

He leaned forward and kissed her fiercely on the mouth. He had yet to satiate her appetites. In fact, they both had thirsts that were yet to be met. He waited until she was kissing him back with determined passion. He broke away. And then he continued his downward progress with his lips.

"Oh," was her only comment as he alternated between kissing and nipping her body. His hands were as busy as his lips, learning what would give her pleasure, how to touch her, how to stroke her, until she was nearly a mindless creature solely dependent upon his touch as reality's anchor.

She closed her eyes, and let her head rest against the pool's padded rim, as he ministered to her, capturing her flesh with wave after wave of addictive pleasure coursing through her body, in ever expanding spirals from the focus of his mouth. "Oh" she moaned again and again, as he kissed her, with ever increasing determination to arouse her. Her stunned gasps turned into loud moaning.

He pleasured her. Then she opened her eyes to look down at him, shocked by what he could do, and how quickly he had done it, to her body. When he felt her finally still, he was watching   
her as if he were memorizing every bit of her being.

"Again, magnifique, mon coeur," he whispered.

"Yes," she finally sighed, when she had the strength to speak. "I truly had no idea it could be like this, Jean-Luc. No idea at all." Her voice was weak, stunned and befuddled by what he had accomplished; what he had done to her.

"Dare I be flattered?"

His teasing words focused her. "Your ancestors should be proud, Jean-Luc."

Not that as a man, he wasn't pleased with her words, but he also questioned them. "Surely I am not the first lover to…”.

"Not like this…." She sighed. "I loved them all, but it was never like this…" She signed again as she still felt the aftershocks. She caught the questioning look in his eyes. "Now is not the time to discuss the details of each and every one of our love affairs, Jean-Luc." She sighed again. "But you - you are extraordinaire." She caught his bemused smile at her admission. "And damn you, you know it, too!"

"Merci, Madam."

And then her trademark look of deviltry, that had gotten her into so much trouble in her past, surfaced again. By the time he realized what that look meant, she slipped off of her ledge, and sunk beneath the waters. When she surfaced, she had latched on to several of his essential body parts and was tugging them upwards. And what she was doing to him certainly garnered his attention. She shoved herself upwards. Twisting over him, she trapped him with her arms and legs in the buoyant, scented waters of their bath.

"Do what you wish," he sighed. "I believe we have reached a mutual enjoyment agreement."

"We'll negotiate the terms, tomorrow," she warned. "I can be quite demanding."

"That is something that I've always known about you, my Beverly."

Hovering against him, she was wanting him as much as he was requiring her.

This time, he moved slowly, thoughtfully. Turning, he braced himself on his knees and elbows, anchoring their bodies to the upper ledge. His face was above her suddenly, his grey-green mutable eyes gazing into hers, almost without expression, just watching every subtle change to her face.

"Does this give you pleasure, Jean-Luc?" she asked him, in a whisper. "Is it right?"

"Yes…" he hissed, trying to maintain absolute control over her. He moved with more energy. "Does that please you?"

Wondering how he could speak so coherently at a time like this, yet not wanting to be the first one to surrender control she nodded.

"Beverly?" He demanded an answer. It wasn't just his ego. It was his need to know for sure that what he was doing to her was what she really wanted. "Am I giving you pleasure?"

"Yes…" she whispered. “I didn't know…" she gasped when he changed his movement.

"Now you do…" he whispered against her lips.

"Damn it, Jean-Luc. Why didn't you before…"

"I was afraid."

She stopped responding. "Of me? Really?"

"You terrify me, madam." And then he chuckled, noting that he most certainly had secured her attention.

"Let me give you something to really worry about…" she murmured against his lips. She sought his tongue. His mouth met hers, in the closeness of their loving. 

"So good…" she murmured, when she could.

"Oui…"

"So very good…" The ache of her need was in her throat, with the involuntary sounds that she made. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feelings. Surely he could sense the truth between them. How could he not know?

She thought that he would surely drive her mad with his loving. He was taking forever. There were moments when she wished they could be joined together for eternity, like some erotic sculpture captured forever in a Dionysian pose.

Waters now cooler than their bodies, swirled over them. He used the difference in the temperatures to assist him in his control.

As the minutes passed, with his dominant game playing through several rounds of frustration for Beverly, she knew she was losing this particular struggle. Whatever peace awaited her depended solely upon when he wished to grant it. He was playing with her as one would play with an opponent whose expertise was miniscule compared to this. She had to bite down on her lips in order not to breakdown and to whimper and plead.

Still, he kept ruthlessly controlling their pleasure. Finally, she had to plead. "Damn you, Jean-Luc. You're torturing…. Forget what I said about the French. Just do…"

"Have done, Beverly," he said. "Hush." He silenced her with his mouth again.

He shifted their positions again, this time dragging her up to the top shelf of the pool; their bodies almost completely out of the water now. 

She could not fight him. She could not challenge him. She could not even keep up with him, as her body surrendered helpless under his control and guidance. He controlled everything now, about their mating.

"Now," he ordered against her ear, though he might as well have been speaking Klingonese for all that she was capable of understanding at the moment. Her entire attention was focused on   
him, and what he was doing to her body. And she was learning the language of his body.

A shattering force started to rise up between them, obliterating all coherent thought, and even consciousness for endless moments.

When she had the strength to open her eyes, she was lying on her back beneath a mottled ceiling that needed painting. She decided that she should have been looking at the stars instead. Part of her was still seeing them.

She turned into the heat that he radiated, resting her head against his supporting arms. He cuddled her body next to his. She rubbed her cheek against him, as the shattered pieces of her mind began to form more coherent thoughts. She said the very first thing that crossed her mind. "I don't know how they survive…"

"Who?" He was curious, and considering how short his breath still was, he was perfectly willing for Beverly to do the talking for now.

"Telepaths. Betazeds. Vulcans." She languidly stretched, smiling into his eyes. "If we can achieve this, and we're only mere mortals, what must it be like to share love as a telepath. If it's anything like us, they couldn't survive," she decided. "Humanoid bodies couldn't handle more than this…"

"I take it that your ramblings are a roundabout way of paying me a compliment?"

She raised up her head. "Men. You think everything has to do with your egos. You and your damned sexual prowess."

"I believe I've already proved my point. Shall I repeat myself?"

"Oh, yes." She grinned as she considered his offer. "But give me at least an hour to recover. I'm only a feeble female, and I need the time to recuperate from your extraordinary loving."

He sensed that he faced further trials during the night. Beverly was not going to readily forgive him for making her beg. But his ego had needed it from her. He would be willing pay her price   
again and again, to repeat what had just occurred between them. For he knew that he had never loved or been loved like this before.

She tried to move. Muscles protested. She realized how stiff her body was.

He noticed. "May I suggest a massage, and then some champagne?"

"Didn't you have enough to drink?"

"Obviously, you didn't taste the Klingon bloodwine. It's a drink that only a Klingon could refer to as wine."

She began to laugh. And laugh. "You're a snob, sometimes, Jean-Luc."

For a minute, he only studied her, and then he started to laugh, too.

When she could, she explained, "And to think that I thought being French didn't mean that much to you. I always thought of you as an officer first, and then a gentleman. Now I am a wise woman. A much wiser, greatly pleasured woman."

"Now, you do indeed know better. On certain matters, being a French man will always take precedence."

"Yes, I know that now." She arched an eyebrow. "I'll pay you back for what you just did, you know. I promise."

"Only as long as you don't start your attack for at least another fifteen minutes."

She was silent for a while, regaining her strength, permitting him to recuperate too. She stretched again, and sat up.

He lay there, watching her, memorizing every nuance of her. Perhaps the secrets of a nude body held little mystery for his former CMO, but for him, seeing Beverly naked was a new and most treasured experience. There was so much he had to learn about her, things that before as her commanding officer, he could never know, and had no right to even discover. Now, it was another matter. She had given him permission for a personal exploration that he planned on taking forever to do.

She had noted the way he'd been perusing her. And she understood his reasons. Being a doctor had not made her immune to being a healthy female. Professionally, all she'd ever observed was the condition of his body. She didn't dare imagine doing anything else - at least not professionally and on duty. Now, matters had changed. She could look as long as she wanted. And she knew that he'd not mind the examination, as long as it was not in sick bay.

"You mentioned champagne?" she hinted.

He sat up and merely looked at her. She knew that look and groaned. His thoughts were elsewhere - duty, honor, responsibilities, etc. If their ship had been in orbit, she'd have started cursing the Enterprise.

"Oh, Jean-Luc, what duty could you possibly be thinking of doing at this very moment? If Starfleet wanted you, they'd be calling you!"

"The wake. Perhaps I should see if it's still alive."

"And do what? Hold Will's hand as he tells some outrageous tale to some gullible civilian ladies? There are admirals there, for heaven's sake. What possible trouble could there be?"

She might not have sounded so positive if she'd known that the Klingon ritual included staying until all the wine was consumed - a volume which only happened to be several thousand liters. It didn't matter that some of Starfleet's most prestigious admirals were in attendance, for they'd been drinking lots of Klingon wine too.

Hours later, when Picard finally got around to checking his messages, he would read many reports listing some of the incidents that would make the wake more than legendary - above and beyond his own personal memories. The ones that would intrigue him the most included Data throwing the first punch and being detained for inciting to riot, Riker wrestling with Worf over something - or someone, and Admiral Nechayev being propositioned/propositioning some and/or/all Klingons. It would be days before he'd learn all the stories.

Deciding that she was in the mood for the afore-mentioned champagne, and something to eat, Beverly stood and walked over to the adjacent sonic shower in the bathroom. Moments later she emerged, very pink, ruffled and dry. She went over to the vanity and started rummaging about for a brush for her hair.

He watched her for a while until he realized what she was looking for. "Beverly," he teased, "do you think that I really use a hair brush?" He couldn't help it. He was amused.

She straightened, clenched her teeth and then walked over to the towels, draping a fuzzy hideous pink sheet tightly about her body.

Picard was somewhat disappointed that she had managed to cover herself so completely. He stood, and stretched, experiencing a few protesting muscles himself. This night's exercise had been for him, considering recent years, a most rare occasion.

She walked into the bedroom, straight for the replicator. "Computer, replicate a hair brush for a woman. And a warm ankle length robe, my size, in blue chenille." She warily watched him as   
he joined her. He didn't mind walking around nude. She added, "Make that two robes."

She put on her robe, then dropped her towel. Picking up her hair brush, she walked over to the built-in dresser and mirror, and started working on the tangles in her hair.

Sensing that she wasn't in the mood to converse with a naked Starfleet captain, he put on the robe that she'd ordered. He ignored the fact that it was a tad on the long side. He went to the com panel and quietly ordered some 18th century lute music. Then, not knowing what else to do, he sat in an armchair, and watched her.

When she was finished, she padded over to the chair next to his, and sat down. "Now, shall we talk?" she regretfully asked. The moment of reckoning was nigh.

He leaned over and clasped her hand, momentarily delaying their conversation by playing with her fingers. There were a thousand things he should say to her, a hundred things that he should do, but he couldn't think of a single place to start.

Somehow, she sensed his problem, for she spoke first. "We've been good friends for a long time, Jean-Luc. What we did this evening - I don't want it to change our friendship. But I know that you needed me tonight."

Perhaps it was the way that she said it. Maybe he was reading something more into her words than the obvious. But he had to know.

"Beverly, did you come with me tonight - that is - did you come to me out of pity?" He didn't want to bring up what she'd told him during their dinner together after the KesPrytt. But her words from that time, had preyed on his mind for a very, very long time.

She supposed that she should have been angry with him, for even asking if she'd gone to bed with him out of pity. Part of her did duly note that they'd yet to reach the bed. And the portion of her mind that still was thinking, had asked the very same question - why had she surrendered now? Why had she gone with him?

"I think that I'm here with you, Jean-Luc, for a number of reasons, ranging from curiosity to driving need. And maybe I do want to do something to help make your pain go away. But those aren't the only reasons as to why I'm here. I do need you. Your touch. I always have. When I know all of my other reasons, I will tell you. I promise."

"Beverly, we can never go back to what we were. It wouldn't work. If our friendship can survive all that it has, surely it can weather our becoming lovers."

"But, where do we go from here, Jean-Luc?"

"Did you really want to be CMO of an Ambassador-class starship?"

"I've already been CMO of the best there is, Jean-Luc. I won't go backwards."

"You did when you returned to the Enterprise."

"I have always viewed my year away as a lateral transfer. Trouble is, I really don't know what forward is yet, for me. I've already been head of Starfleet Medical. What's left?"

"You could try out for command. You showed some promise as I recall."

She laughed, thinking about the few times she'd been in command of the Enterprise. "You sure? I always had this nagging feeling that you were afraid I'd bump the ship into a planet or something, when I had the big chair."

"Never."

Beverly was surprised to realize that he meant it.

"Beverly, I let a fourteen-year-old boy pilot my ship. How could I even think to question his mother's abilities, if I had not questioned her son's abilities? Now, if I'd known about Deanna being the pilot when the Enterprise crashed, that would have been another matter."

"Deanna made it to full commander."

"Yes. But have you ever seen her pilot's rating? There's a reason why whenever she took a shuttlecraft, I always assigned a pilot. I never did so when you took a shuttlecraft."

"So you think I'm a good pilot, eh?"

"You'd make an even better captain. Beverly, you and Will Riker are the only two Starfleet officers who can boast about besting the Borg in battle. Think about it."

"It is a possibility. Meanwhile, what are you going to do? During the past few days, you've said next to nothing about your plans."

"They are really indefinite, Beverly. First, I have to return to LaBarre to attend to Robert's affairs. I have to go, even though I've already missed the funerals."

She leaned over to hug him. Somehow, not quite sure how he'd maneuvered it, she found herself sitting on his lap, still hugging him.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No," was his instinctive response. He quickly realized that he had hurt her. He could see it in her eyes. "That is, I'm not sure."

"Jean-Luc, if you don't want me to come with you, just say so."

"Beverly, until this very moment, I'd never even considered the possibility that you'd want to come with me."

"Well, then you think about it, Jean-Luc. I'd be happy to go with you."

He studied her face, gazing into her blue eyes, trying to comprehend everything that she was offering. He threaded his fingers through her hair, marveling at its fiery silkiness. For some reason, he needed to keep touching her. He decided that he wanted Beverly to be with him, more than he desired his privacy.

"Then, your offer is accepted, Beverly. We'll go to LaBarre as soon as we can. I'd like your company. But, be forewarned. Knowing Marie, if something needs doing, she'll talk you into it."

"From what you've told me about Marie over the years, I'm glad that I'll finally get a chance to meet her. She sounds like she's an interesting lady. And I'll ask her advice on how to handle the Picard male…"

"Marie is a brave lady. A remarkable lady. I grieve for my brother and nephew. But they were not my world. They were hers."

"Well, at least you made your peace with Robert."

"Did I? The last message that I received from him was full of complaints about my planned shore leave with Rene in San Francisco. He was afraid that I'd be corrupting the boy." He didn't realize that tears were forming in his eyes. "If only I'd had the chance…"

With gentle touches, she wiped the tears off of his cheeks with her fingers.

"After we leave France, what will you do?"

"I don't know, Beverly. For the first time since I was a boy - what, ten? Twelve? I honestly have no idea what I'll be doing with my future."

"What did the admirals tell you?"

"Other than the fact that they weren't going to court martial Riker or myself?"

"Thank God." She breathed a deep sigh of relief. "I'd hoped, when so many of the attended the wake tonight, that it meant that they weren't going to go after you and Will."

"Well, the only two admirals who had anything constructive to suggest were Nechayev and Nakamura. They both, each in their own diverse way, suggested that I do the same thing - take a leave of absence - a long leave of absence."

"Are you going to do it?"

"Unless I can conceive of some greater plan, I probably will. I've always wanted to work on an extended archaeological dig. Now I will have the time to do so."

For a while, they had nothing to say to each other so Beverly just rested her head against his shoulder. She was thinking of all that he had revealed.

Not wishing to mention that his arm was falling asleep, Jean-Luc tried to change his position.

"Starbase 24," she stated as she shifted with him. She was finding her position on Jean-Luc's lap to be quite comfortable, not to mention the fulfillment of one of her more frequent fantasies.

"What about SB 24?"

"Dr. Rose, an old associate of Dalen Quaice - you remember my mentor, don't you, Jean-Luc?" He nodded, wondering when she was going to make her point. "Anyway, she's at SB 24 doing extensive research into folk medicines. You know that's been one of my major hobbies." He nodded again. "Anyway, one of the offers that I've received is to be CMO of SB 24, with the added benefit of getting to work with Dr. Rose. Now, ordinarily, I'd refuse a Starbase posting. I did that during the early part of my career, and I swore I'd never do it again."

"But SB 24 is close to Caldos."

"Correct." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I could open up my grandmother's cottage and live on Caldos for a while - maybe even as long as a year. Nana had this most marvelous garden. I regretted not being able to harvest it properly when we were there for her funeral…"

"Beverly…"

She stopped his talking by kissing him lightly on the lips. "Don't you see, Jean-Luc? You can come with me. The cottage is big enough for two. Once we leave Earth, Caldos could be a place for you to go. You could get caught up on your reading. Or get caught up with me…"

This time he silenced her by kissing her. "Beverly, are you asking me to live with you?"

"Well, we could have separate bedrooms if you insist."

He just looked at her, trying to burn the image of her, the way she looked, smiled, felt, and smelled into his memory to be captured forever. Her hair tumbled in unruly glory about her shoulders, a cascade of fiery silk radiance. He'd always suspected that the professional styles she'd favored had little to do with her hair's natural tendencies. He thought that she'd never looked more beautiful to him than she did at this moment.

"Sweet present of the present, cool of night, warmth of my life…"

She faced him, placing her hand against his cheek. "Are you going to give me an honest answer, or do you want to think about my offer? Though I wouldn't mind it if you continued to quote poetry for the remainder of the night."

"Jacques Prevert…"

"Of course. A French poet. Who else." She shook, trying to contain her laughter. "You were really upset by what I said earlier. And you're going to torment me with it for a long time to come,   
aren't you?"

"I take it that you will wish for me to come with you? In spite of the fact that I will be plaguing you in the future by correcting any misinformation you have about your Starfleet lover who happens to be French?"

"I can't think of a better future." She smiled. Two could play his game. "In her arms, he loved best? Make that my arms."

He thought for a moment, trying to place the quote. Then he focused on the obvious. "That's Dryden."

"A fine, highly revered English poet."

"I didn't know you liked English poetry."

"You didn't think that I was a romantic at heart? There is a lot about me you have yet to learn."

"I would have thought that you'd have preferred French poets…"

"You're going to be quite a challenge as a lover, Jean-Luc. I think I'll relish making you see the light."

Now it was her turn to study him. For the first time, in quite a few days, he seemed relaxed, almost happy; even, possibly, at peace with himself. Only the right muscles seemed to be tensing   
at the moment, as she wiggled a little against his thighs. As a doctor, she was glad of his normal responses. As a woman, she vowed to do everything possible to continue his progress.

He knew she was subtly trying to tempt him. And he was pleased that she still desired him. "We do have a great deal more to discuss…"

"There's always tomorrow, Jean-Luc." This time, when she kissed him, her intent was blatant. Her knees were nudging his. Her robe had parted. Somehow, the belt at his waist had come undone. "The night is not yet over."

"Don't you mean the morning, Beverly?"

She didn't answer him because she had better things to do with her lips. And she had waited a very long time to finally be able to do them to him, and with him. She sighed in delighted contemplation.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Commander William Thomas Riker sat on a hard metal bench in a corridor a long, long way away from two of his fellow officers. He was watching the people go by. He had nothing better to do while he waited than to count the number of rips and stains which his replacement dress uniform had acquired. It had been quite a night.

He rubbed his knuckles, wincing when he hit sore spots. After he retrieved Commander Data, he was going to demand - no make that order - Data to explain why he had started the brawl. Though Riker did have to acknowledge that tonight's fracas had been one of the more edifying brawls of his lifetime. It wasn't every brawl that had Starfleet admirals joining in the melee swinging on the side of the Klingons. The image of Alynna Nechayev piggyback riding Worf as they both entered the fray against the Nausicaans, the Edorites and other civilians, would be   
something that Will would remember for a long time to come. He suspected that Worf would remember the night even longer.

Will wasn't sure if it would be a story he'd tell in the future, though. Anyone who knew Nechayev would never believe his story, even if he did have the pictures and discs to prove it.

Thank God for the soon to be placed on the full speed ahead "A" promotion list of full Commanders belonging to William Thomas Riker, one Reginald Endicott Barclay III.

Riker could have also sworn that there'd been no Nausicaans on the official guest list. Not that Commander Quinteros would believe him. Ever since their Academy days together, when Quinteros had been a senior and Riker had been a lowly but rowdy freshman plebe, Riker always had suspected that Quinteros had no sense of humor. Obviously, having to place in custody several admirals did not help create one.

"Commander?"

Riker looked up and saw a tall humanoid wearing a long-suffering look, that wasn't there just from having a brig stuffed with Admiralty brawlers. Judging by his uniform, the aged looking man was some sort of civilian constable. He wasn't Starfleet. And he wasn't happy - not happy at all.

"All of the admirals have been released on their own recognizance. Huh. Imagine that." 

The man didn't sound like your usual cog of official bureaucracy.

"I wouldn't even try. There are some things better not envisioned." Riker bestowed on the man his best good ole boy smile. "Now, what about my people?"

"Charges have been dropped. On all of them, except for that whitey-faced guy. Commander Quinteros was saying something about adding him to his nuts and bolts collection."

"Nuts and bolts?"

"Let me put it this way, Commander Riker. If he ever invites you over for coffee, not that it's likely to happen now - don't ask about his hobbies. You haven't lived until you've heard the stirring history of the evolution of the machine-made bolt."

"Let me put it this way, Captain…?" Riker almost mimicked.

"It's Sergeant - Sergeant Morton. Chip Morton." The man extended his hand.

Riker shook it. "Well, Sergeant Morton, I'm Commander Riker. Will. I went to the Academy with Commander Quinteros. I was a lowly freshman to his senior-ship."

"A miracle, Will."

"What?"

"That any of you hotshots let him live to graduate."

"Sergeant, did he ever discuss with you his detailed research papers into inventing a better paper clip?"

"Can't say I've had the pleasure." Chip looked down the hallway. "I wonder how he missed cornering me with that one…"

Riker kept smiling. "Do you think that any Starfleet officer in his right mind would want to be around someone who had such vision?"

"Minute he graduated they drop-putted him into Administration, didn't they, Commander? Figures. Administration is where Starfleet dumps most of their mistakes." Chip Morton then pulled   
a small bag out of his pea-green uniform's vest pocket. "Salt stick, Commander?" He offered one to Riker.

"Uh, no thanks, Sergeant. About Data…"

"Commander Quinteros wants you to personally come and get him out - at 0600. He also said to be sure and see him. He wouldn't dream of missing you." The man sighed. "If you really want your Data out of the brig, you'd better do it, too. If you ask me, Quinteros has way too much time on his hands for a man who is supposed to be running this station."

Riker checked the clock on the wall. 0600 was less than two hours away. He sighed. No sleep tonight.

"See you in the morning, Commander," the friendly constable said before returning to his duties in his office by the brig.

For a moment Will considered searching for Deanna. She hadn't been overly pleased with his behavior tonight. Something about the blood feud he'd started with Worf was altering her opinion of him. Didn't Deanna know that Worf had to formally challenge him in order to honorably be able to court her? It really didn't matter who'd win or lose, just so long as Worf's family and fellow Klingons knew that Worf had not behaved dishonorably. That Worf had not stolen Deanna Troi away from a superior officer and friend.

Riker sighed again. The things that he'd do for his Imzadi.

His Imzadi…

Riker's next sigh sounded more like a groan. The more he thought about Deanna, the more he wasn't sure that he was doing the right thing where she was concerned. He couldn't give Deanna what she wanted or needed, yet he wasn't so sure that Worf could do it either.

He stood, stretched, thereby extending some of the rips to his already ruined dress uniform, and started the long walk back to his quarters.

He thought of all of the offers that he'd received since he'd arrived at the Starbase. He was somewhat surprised that his services were in demand. Evidently, what Jean-Luc had said about Starfleet's official viewpoint over the saving of Soran's weapon from the Romulans was true. If Admiral Pressman's cohorts were out to get him, they weren't being obvious.

Right now, though, Admiral Nechayev's offer of being a commandant at the Starfleet flight school sounded like a pretty good idea. It was short term, and would give him time to consider what should be his next career move.

After cleaning up, and finding a uniform that wasn't reeking of Romulan ale or Klingon blood, Riker met with Commander Quinteros.

It was not a pleasant meeting. Quinteros' opinion of Riker had not changed in the slightest since the Academy. Getting Data out of jail didn't change it, either.

Matters hadn't been helped by the fact that Commander Orfil Quinteros had personally viewed the Enterprise as his baby when he was the supervising administrator for her at UP. Quinteros had often said that assigning rowdy Riker as First Officer was one of the biggest mistakes that Starfleet Command had ever made. The Borg notwithstanding, Will's crashing the 1701-D into Veridian III hadn't changed his opinion of Will Riker and his command abilities.

Ordinarily, Riker would have ignored and accepted Quinteros for what he was. But the fact that he had to eat humble pie for breakfast in order to get Data out of the brig, had not helped to improve Riker's mood.

Riker's attitude was not bettered when he met with Mr. Data. The android did not appear to be the slightest bit penitent.

When they were alone, Riker pulled Data into a small side room by his quarters. Riker stretched out comfortably on an armchair of Arcturian design.

"Why, Data?" Why did you throw the first punch?"

Data gave the commander's question some serious thought. "Because it was the logical thing to do at the time? Commander Riker, thank you for arranging for my release from the brig. It was a most intriguing experience. I have never shared a cell with Klingons before. The colloquial versions of the swear words in Klingonese that they used were most intriguing. I must   
research the root sources. Did you know that they are incorporating epithets from over eighty other races including Terran, into their language? The Klingons had added some curious variations…"

"Data!" Standing, Riker let his exasperation be known. "I don't give a damn about curses that your cellmates have taught you!"

"Why not, Commander? I plan to incorporate some of those curses in my future use of…"

"Shut up, Data!"

Data correctly concluded that Commander Riker was short tempered this morning.

Data shut up.

"Mr. Data, why did you throw that first punch? What possible reason could you have?"

"Why, Commander. It was my duty."

"Your duty?" Riker took a deep, deep breath and counted to ten. "Explain, Mr. Data."

"I did not believe that you should be the one who started the fight. Though, since you are my superior officer - should I have given you the opportunity of throwing the first punch? It is   
considered to be an honor of distinction by the Klingons."

Riker was torn between laughing hysterically or losing his legendary control.

"Mr. Data - if throwing the first punch is supposed to be such an honor, why didn't you ask Captain Picard to do it?" He spoke sarcastically.

Data took him seriously. "He was the Enterprise's captain. Only a captain's senior officers are supposed to have the right to so honor him."

"Why do I have this suspicion that Klingons are involved? Somehow Klingons have been causing a lot of problems, lately."

"Yes, Commander. Their ritual required that the freeing of the spirit ceremony end with a fight of honor - the more energetic, the greater the honor. Not to have a fight would have been an insult. And a discourtesy."

"I see." Riker should have known. "Why didn't Worf do the honors?"

"I did not think it prudent for a newly-promoted officer to officially start a fight."

"Why did you throw that punch, Mr. Data?"

"The Nausicaans and the Edorites were somewhat negative in their opinions of the Enterprise, Starfleet in general, and my choice of hors d'oeuvres. At the time, it seemed to be the correct course."

"So you started the fight alone?"

"Q helped." Riker shuddered at this bit of news. "Q is the one that first insulted the Nausicaan."

"Q?" Riker really didn't want to know. He was beginning to develop a headache, though some inner voice warned him that now was not the best of times to disturb Dr. Crusher. Or so he hoped…

"Mr. Data, why don't you write up your report. And don't leave out any major details, especially if they concern Q…" If Q was involved, maybe there was a way to salvage certain officer's pending promotions, and possibly even their careers.

"Commanders?"

Riker looked over to the open doorway and saw Worf - a Worf, that for a Klingon, seemed to be in an uncharacteristic good mood. Considering the fact that Riker had seen Worf less than three hours ago, Riker knew that Worf's well-being was not from a good night's sleep. He didn't want to think about the other possibility as to why Worf was almost cheerful.

"Commander Worf," Data greeted. "I thought that you were with Admiral Nechayev?"

Riker suddenly remembered how the Admiral had left the party. Worf had been carrying her. She had been caterwauling a bawdy song at the top of her lungs. He was now no longer quite so upset about Worf's nocturnal activities.

"Data, what Mr. Worf did with Admiral Nechayev is his own business." Riker couldn't help but grin as he said it.

"Counselor Troi assisted," Worf commented with a straight face. He knew Commander Riker too well. "Good party," Worf added, almost smiling. "Gowron and the Council were pleased and honored that at least some in Starfleet understand our ways."

"Q was there," Riker flatly stated.

"I know," Worf agreed. "I hit him."

Riker was suddenly alert. "Q let you?"

"It is a story of some length, Commander," Worf replied.

"Put it in your report to Captain Picard - but I see them first."

Data looked over at his friend, puzzled. "Commander, should not we immediately contact Captain Picard? Reading these reports will probably constitute his last official acts as captain of the Enterprise."

Both Riker and Worf shared a look of mutual agreement. Worf gruffly stated, "The Captain will not be disturbed unless it is for a matter of great importance."

Riker knew what the expression on Data's face meant. "That means a red alert, Data."

"Or worse," Worf added.

Riker had to add, "Captain Picard has his own affairs to occupy him at the present time. I'd rather that he not be concerned with your reports." To his credit, Riker made the statement with a   
straight face.

Data was about to ask a question, when Worf leaned over and whispered, "Dr. Crusher."

"What does Dr. Crusher have to do with my reports?" Data asked.

"And Captain Picard," Riker added.

"What does Dr. Crusher have to do with Captain Picard and my reports?" Data continued. Riker and Worf exchanged looks. Worf looked uncomfortable, but he would have spoken up if it was required. He was responsible for the matters concerning his cha'DIch.

"Beverly, Data," Riker enunciated. "And Jean-Luc," he patiently added.

Data looked over with interest at his commander. "And my reports?" He noticed a look that Data had seen before on Riker's face. He had designated such expressions as Riker long-suffering look, Number 23. Data processed this news, and correlated it with the prior information.

"Oh. The Captain. And the Doctor."

Riker nodded. "Yes, Data."

"Do you mean sex, Sir?"

Worf cracked a smile.

Riker's smile was broader as he added, "They both are on shore leave. And it's the best kind of shore leave they could have right now, Mr. Data. Let's let them be. When they are ready to surface, they'll tell us." Suddenly his demeanor changed, his voice became serious. "They both need a chance to heal, Mr. Data. Hell, we all need it -even you. Life will never be the same again, for any of us. At least Jean-Luc and Beverly have a chance. If it's brought them finally together, maybe some good has come out of the death of the Enterprise after all."

Riker stood and motioned at the replicator on a far slate grey wall. "Let's have some breakfast." He put his arm about Worf's shoulder. "And then, Worf, you can tell me all about the last verse to the song that Admiral Nechayev was singing… Something about a drunken Klingon, wasn't it?"

"It was about a horny Klingon, Sir."

Data piped up, "But, Commander, I still do not understand what the Captain's sexual activities with the Doctor have to do with my reports."

Worf grrrred through his teeth.

Data shut up.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

On another floor, far from the wake's aftermath, Beverly quietly ordered a coffee and a croissant for herself. Jean-Luc had finally succumbed to Morpheus a while ago, and she didn't wish to disturb him.

Beverly knew she'd had little sleep lately. She also had a very long albeit incredible night, and she was tired. But she was also too keyed up to sleep. She finished her small snack. Pilfering a shirt from Jean-Luc's closet, she went into the bathroom and ordered the computer to heat up the bath water. "Add lavender and Pacifica water oil number four."

"One of my favorites," a subdued voice stated from the doorway.

She whirled around. "Jean-Luc - I thought you were sleeping."

"Neither of us seems to be able to get much sleep tonight." He corrected himself. "Today, that is."

"Join me?" She placed the borrowed shirt on the bench, and dropped her robe, then stepped onto the first water covered ledge.

He appreciatively eyed the lady. "Only if you'll permit me to scrub your back."

She softly laughed. "We never did get around to actually bathing before."

"Well, if it is of interest to you, I can assure you that bathing is all I'll be doing now. I'm too exhausted to attempt anything else at the moment."

"You're complaining?"

"I wouldn't dream of being so ungallant or foolish." He dropped his robe and stepped in the pool beside her. "Come, Beverly. Let's just relax." He looked around and then at her, wryly smiling. "Shall we talk? Even if our present circumstances are unusual, I hope that in the future they will not be considered to be that rare."

Beverly sat down on a shelf and then took his hand, pulling him down beside her. "Enjoy this pool, for now. On Caldos, I don't think that there are any bathrooms quite like this one. There aren't any Holodecks either, and the only bathing facility in my grandmother's cottage is a cast iron bathtub built for two."

"What?"

"At least, that's how Nana described the tub in her diaries."

"I've never thought about the sharing of a tub with a ghost before."

"Well, Ronin could be corporeal when he had the energy to be."

Jean-Luc was hesitant. "Beverly, do you blame me?"

"Whatever for? For bringing to an end my future that included endless ecstasy beyond mere mortal imagination.?"

He suspected that she was teasing him. He decided to reply in kind, though he was somewhat rusty at it. Romantic banter was not a foreplay skill he had practiced much lately. Pulling her into a close embrace, he promised, "Well, then, I'll just personally have to see about replacing him for the endless ecstasy remainder of your life."

Then a worried look crossed his face - was he being too presumptuous? Assuming more beyond just the moment?

Beverly correctly interpreted his thoughts, and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

"Is that a promise, Jean-Luc?"

"Do you want it to be?" He was concerned.

"I wouldn't have asked you to come to Caldos if I only wanted us to be just another fabulous forty-hour fling."

"Oh, I see." He sounded most serious. "You want a forty-day fabulous fling, or thereabouts."

Her first reaction was to suggest a forty-year fling, but that would have been suggesting too much, too soon.

"Or maybe beyond forty months… Though I think we should discuss tomorrow - tomorrow, Jean-Luc. Right now, I believe that I owe you a massage."

He released her and rolled over onto his chest, resting flat on the ledge.

She laughed. "I take it that this is a hint? Or an order?"

"Beverly, if you would care to, please do. I promise that I'll reciprocate."

She leaned over and placed a light kiss on his left shoulder before squirting oil on his back. "I know you will, Jean-Luc. You are a most fair man, a most noble man." She thought for a moment before she added, "Like Jack."

He raised his head, startled that she would mention Jack to him. Yet, saddened that she had. "No, Beverly. Not like Jack. He loved you."

She stopped massaging his shoulders, wiping her fingers on a towel. "You don't?" she tersely asked, her voice suddenly trembling with emotions. "You said you did, once."

"Do you love me?" he countered.

His gaze captured hers, as he dared her to cross the unspoken line that had been a boundary between them for decades.

She gave in, bending her head down, her hair brushing against his face. She kissed his cheek. "You're right, Jean-Luc. Let's save certain discussions for later, much later."

She privately vowed not to mention Jack again, until Jean-Luc spoke of him.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Two days later, in newly replicated uniforms, they both left his quarters, trying to act as normal as possible. Considering the schedule of the day's events which included a private dinner with the senior officers of the Enterprise, ‘normal’ was going to be a state that would be difficult to achieve.

When they reached the deck where his transitional office was located, Picard kissed Beverly lightly on the cheek, after ascertaining that there was no one spying on them. She left him with promises of meeting him for lunch.

Then he tackled all the communiqués and padds that had piled up since the hearings, and then the wake. He'd forgotten how much sheer bureaucratic work the crashing of a starship entailed. One hour later he ordered Commander Riker to come to his officer.

When Riker entered, Picard greeted him and then pointed at the only other chair in the office besides the grape-purple one that was behind the apple green painted desk. Riker took in the stack of chips and padds that were on the desk.

"Reports on the wake?" Riker nodded toward the high stacks.

"Only a few of the preliminary reports, from Commander Quinteros. I haven't read the admirals' versions yet. Some of them contain rather interesting details." Picard picked up a hand full of chips. "This is Quinteros' report for the events during the second hour of the wake. I was still attending at the time." He pointed at a larger bunch of information chips. "And this bunch contains Quinteros' recommendations for you and my senior staff. Somewhat surprisingly, they don't include any mention of a promotion for you or anyone else."

Riker couldn't discern Picard's mood. To say that the man was cloaked in the remoteness of his rank, was an understatement.

"What are you going to do, Sir?"

For a moment, Picard was silent.

Riker wasn't sure but he thought that he saw a faint glimmer of a smile in Picard's eyes.

"If I were still captain of a starship, I might have to pay attention to some of these reports. However, I no longer am a starship captain. And I do recall that I have a perfectly capable first officer. Therefore, I see no reason why I cannot delegate all of this…" He nodded in the direction of the multiple stacks, "…to, dare I say it, to the person I hold completely responsible for the brawl?" Whatever humor that might have been creeping into his voice vanished. "Discipline as you see fit - or as your conscience dictates, Commander."

This time, Riker was almost positive that Picard was hiding a smile. "As you wish, Captain. Lieutenant Barclay…"

Picard interrupted. "Make that Lieutenant Commander Barclay, Commander."

Riker was now sure about the smile. "Yes, Sir. Anyway, Lieutenant Commander Barclay recorded the entire wake. I don't think that I'll have that much difficulty in clearing out these reports." 

He picked up a few chips off of the desk. "Would you care to see Barclay's vids?" Riker suddenly grinned for he knew what he was going to say next. And he was the only officer who could get away with saying it to Captain Picard. "You really should have stayed around, Sir, when the party really started swinging."

"I think that one of my life's little regrets will be not having stayed through the wake until its end." Picard stood and pulled down his tunic. "But, given the circumstances, I made the better choice."

"Off the record, Jean-Luc?"

"I believe we've been speaking off the record for a while, Will."

"Jean-Luc, I consider myself to be a friend to both you and Beverly. However…"

"Warning noted, and duly understood, Will."

"Then, Beverly is in good hands."

"I sincerely hope that she thinks so."

Picard was smiling when he went to the replicator and ordered up a double strong coffee with cream for Will, and then tea, Earl Grey, hot, for himself. "Will, I have a serious matter to discuss with you. In fact, it's the reason why I came back on duty this morning."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Commander Data tendered his resignation to Starfleet. Admiral Nechayev just gave it to me this morning. She wants us to find out why he wants to leave, and to try and dissuade him, if possible."

"Data?" Riker shook his head in disbelief. "I don't get it. I was just with him yesterday, and he didn't mention any kind of problem."

"What was Mr. Data's mood?"

"Data? He was just being Data, yesterday." Then it dawned on Riker what Picard meant. "He wasn't displaying any emotions."

Picard put down his cup of tea and walked over besides Will, leaning against the edge of the desk. "Perhaps that is it. I've already had one conversation with Data about his emotions. He has a more difficult path to follow than any of us, at the moment."

"Do you want me to speak to him, Captain?"

"No. Not yet. I'll send for him and try to see what I can do."

Riker stood, automatically tugging down his tunic. "Then I'll see you at the dinner tonight, Jean-Luc." As if having a second thought, he turned away from the dull grey door, and studied his captain. "Do you want this dinner tonight, Captain? I know I should have asked you first…"

"Yes, you should have," Picard agreed, "just like you should have asked me about throwing the wake, too."

"I can cancel the dinner."

"No need, Number One. I want to attend tonight. As Counselor Troi would counsel, we all need to come to a sense of closure about the Enterprise and the ending of our lives together." He   
finished off his tea. "I wish you'd been my Number One of the Stargazer. She deserved a good wake, too." Picard paused to carefully choose his words. "I am appreciative of all your efforts, for the wake, and for everything else that you have ever done, oftentimes above and beyond the call of duty. I couldn't have been a good captain without you. Thank you, Number One."

Picard extended his hand to Riker. And Riker silently shook it. What they felt for each other, their respect and friendship, was deeper than mere words. Riker feared that Picard knew it was the end of their era, too…

An hour later, Data came to Picard. He was wearing civilian clothing; a jumpsuit of light blue with darker blue piping.

After polite greetings, Picard motioned for Data to sit down.

"Why, Mr. Data?"

"I presume you are referring to my resignation, Captain?"

"Yes, Mr. Data."

"I have to learn how to cope with my emotions, Captain. It is actually rather funny, sir. Before, when I was wishing to have human emotions, I never considered what it would mean if I actually   
got them, and what I would have to do and master in order to control them.

"And now you must spend the time to learn how to be human."

"Precisely, Captain. I am not fit to be an officer in Starfleet until I do learn how to deal with my emotions. What I did to Geordi. The fear I felt when Soran was attacking…"

Captain Picard interrupted his second officer. "Mr. Data, it can be argued that there are no human adults who have learned how to master all of their emotions all of the time. Surely you understand that the best you can do is to try. That is all that any of us can do. And Geordi understands this too."

"Captain, I see no other choice for me."

"Then, Mr. Data, why don't you just take a formal leave of absence, like I will be doing? You have years of leave accumulated. Don't make your leaving of Starfleet so final. Keep the pathways open for your return, Commander. I've always found your work to be exceptional."

"Even when I joined with my brother Lore and the Borg, Captain?"

Picard realized that Data was making somewhat of a jest. He acknowledged it. "Even then, Mr. Data. In the end, you did the right thing."

"I had to give up my emotions in order to do so, Captain. That is precisely my point."

"Data - don't."

"What, Sir?" Data couldn't interpret Picard's attitude.

"Don't let the end of my career as the Captain of the Enterprise include listing the loss of you as an officer. That's too great a price for me to pay."

"Sir, I never considered…"

"Then, consider this, Commander. I order you not to resign. Take a leave of absence."

Data tried to smile. "Captain, I do not believe that it is within your rights as my commanding officer to so order me. However, as your friend, I will follow your advice. Please withdraw my resignation from Starfleet. I shall apply for extended leave."

"Leave granted. Mr. Data?"

"Yes, Captain."

"I shall always consider you to be one of the finest officers with whom I have ever served - as well as my friend."

"Jean-Luc…" Data looked hesitantly at his captain, unsure if he had permission to cross over this boundary. Picard nodded.

"Mr. Data, if you had a first name, I would hope that you'd grant me permission to use it, too."

"Jean-Luc, as my friend, I should tell you that lately, I have been feeling the need to have a first name of my own. Do you have any suggestions?"

"You're officially listed as Data Noonien Soong on certain files, Mr. Data. But why don't we meet tomorrow, and you can show me a list of possible names. We'll consider your choices then.

"I am sorry, Jean-Luc, but tomorrow morning I am going to be on my way back to Earth. However, I had not considered the possibility of Data being my first name instead of my last name. I shall reflect upon this."

"Why are you going to Earth, Data?"

"I applied for and have been granted permission to attend Harvard and the University of Michigan doctoral programs. Eventually I will pick which academic program will best suit my needs."

"In mathematics or cybernetics?"

"No, Sir. Musicology, performance and composition. I feel that I can best learn to explore my emotions through the expressiveness of my music."

"Well, many races have used music as a metaphor for emotions.

"I plan on concentrating on the more emotional period of Earth's music, specifically Italian versus German opera."

Picard mentally groaned. "Instead of Wagner or Humperdinck, might I suggest Bellini or Donizetti instead?"

"Jean-Luc, though I appreciate your suggestions, I believe that I must find my own way."

"Quite correct, Mr. Data. And I hope that you do. Just remember that you have friends, Data, with whom you can talk whenever you feel the need. Contact me."

"Aye, Sir." Data thought for a moment then added, “Jean-Luc.”

"Dismissed, Commander."

With a curt nod of acceptance, Data left the office. Picard then called Admiral Nechayev to inform her of his success.

"Excellent, Captain." Seated behind a burled wood desk of somewhat massive proportions, she glanced down at her padd. "Captain Jean-Luc Picard, as of 1201 hours tomorrow, Federation Standard Time, you will be relieved of the duties of your rank and will be considered to be officially on a leave of absence for an indeterminate length of time." She looked back up at her view screen, absentmindedly pushing aside loose hairs that had strayed from her tight Vulcan hair twist. "When you feel that it is time for you to return to active duty, Captain, please contact me. I still consider you to be one of my best officers."

"Understood, Admiral. Thank you for your consideration."

"I will take under advisement your recommendations for your officers and crew. Commander Riker just informed me that he will be accepting the posting at SB G-6."

"Good. I was hoping that Commander Riker would consider it."

"You do realize that once Riker is finished there, he will probably be at the top of the list for the chair of the next available galaxy class starship?"

"Is this your way of trying to tell me that I will not be on that list?"

"Jean-Luc, realistically speaking, I don't dare suggest that you get another ship at the moment. Let your friends, and those of us who are not quite your enemy, deal with the politics of ships and promotions for a while."

"Thank you, Admiral Nechayev. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf."

"Jean-Luc."

"Yes, Admiral?"

"When we are conversing in an unofficial manner, you may call me Alynna."

He was somewhat surprised by her offer. There were some who had whispered that Admiral Nechayev was so stiff and proper that she even wore starched underpants. He couldn't recall any other Starfleet officer who referred to the lady by her first name. Though he was appreciative of her offer, he was also somewhat suspicious. There was a part of him that would never quite trust her, not after what had happened at Celtris III. Realizing that his chain of thought had been drifting, he quickly stated, "Thank you, Alynna. I am honored."

Alynna thought of something. "Jean-Luc."

"Yes, Alynna?"

"Tell Mr. Worf that I personally arranged his new posting. One day he may thank me."

"Where are you sending him, Admiral?" Jean-Luc was worried. Though he'd never heard of any specific scuttlebutt concerning Admiral Nechayev and vindictive actions, she did associate with admirals who considered such behavior to be a privilege of rank.

"Don't worry, Jean-Luc, Mr. Worf is still a Lieutenant Commander - but only because I can be such a forgiving person at times."

"Understood, Admiral." He just wondered what she was getting at.

"Tell Worf that I know he is a warrior. Now, he must learn how to be a diplomat." She smiled. And it wasn't a very nice smile. "I shall think of him and his new posting, often. And if I hear the vaguest whisper that he is not fulfilling, cheerfully - I do insist - his duties, he will experience the full range of the power of my wrath as an Admiral. Please make that extremely clear to him, Jean-Luc. Tell him that if he does not perform his duties well, I will personally consider him to be a coward."

"Yes, Admiral." There was naught he could say in response to her words. He waited. Then he added, "Alynna?" Still she said nothing. Finally, he surrendered having to openly admit that he was curious. "Where is Mr. Worf posted?"

"Betazed. The Embassy." Before Jean-Luc could even think of forming an appropriate response, she added, "Good bye, Jean-Luc. I doubt if I will see you again before you leave. Take care."

With that she clicked off her view screen, and leaned back against her comfortable Delenian design chair that she took with her wherever she went. Though she prided herself on not being a too-officious commanding officer, there were certain amenities of rank she considered to be her rightful privilege. And those amenities went with her whenever she could arrange it.  
She also prided herself on being an officer who remembers and paid her debts. With that thought, she placed a call to Betazed. A few minutes later she was speaking to the lady's chief supernumerary. "I'm sorry I missed the lady, Mr. Homm. Please tell your mistress that I'm granting her two favors for the cost of one. And that now she owes me."

When the transmission was ended, Alynna sighed, deciding to call it the end of her duty shift. She'd learned one very valuable lesson a few years ago. Never try to bluff Lwaxana Troi in a game of chance.

In another office, thinking that the day had gone well, all things considered, Picard tidied up his borrowed desk, and then went to ready himself for the night's mess. Entering his quarters, he was agreeably surprised.

"Beverly?"

"Jean-Luc." She greeted him with a kiss, determined to begin as she meant to continue. When the kiss began to deepen, she broke away, and then returned to brushing her hair.  
He looked about his quarters and noticed several boxes and some clothing in the rooms.

"I've moved in," she gaily announced, almost challenging him to contravene her actions. "Any objections?"

"No. Of course not, Beverly. I am just a little surprised, that's all."

"Not too surprised, I hope, Jean-Luc."

She put down her brush and returned to kissing him with great enthusiasm. He replied in kind. When this kiss ended, he finally noticed what she was wearing; a lavender and lace piece of silk that wispily covered only a few curves of her body.

"That's not regulation," He observed, considering the probability that she was going to continue to greet him in such a manner in the future. He rather liked the idea.

"Will suggested that the dinner be informal."

"In other words, any excuse to see the ladies wearing something other than their uniforms." He sighed. "When Will becomes captain of a ship, I fear that his female crew will have to increase the size of their wardrobes."

"Well, they should do their shopping here. Wait till you see the dress that I bought this afternoon when I went shopping with Deanna. This station has a fantastic market place." She looked at his duty uniform. "Are you going to wear that?"

"No. I'm going to wear my dress uniform." He went to the bedroom closet and pulled that uniform out, automatically checking to see if it showed any sign that it had been previously worn.

Beverly considered her dress and then looked at the red of his uniform tunic. "Why don't you wear something else? I've always been partial to you wearing olive silk. Your eyes appear to be almost hazel when you wear that color."

He shook his head, denying her request. "Beverly, tonight will be the last time I will be able to officially wear a Starfleet uniform as captain of the Enterprise. Starting tomorrow, Admiral Nechayev has granted my leave of absence. I won't be able to wear my uniform after that." He said those words as if they were a commonplace statement that he made every day, as if they indicated nothing out of the ordinary with his life.

And with every syllable that he uttered, Beverly felt the ache in her heart for him exponentially grow. He didn't have to speak about what this was costing him. She knew.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and simply looked at her, trying not to reveal how great the loss was that he felt. That which had been his whole world since he'd been a young boy, was now removed from his life, officially, at least for a while. And though he could mouth the words and say the things that everyone expected him to say, none of this could disguise the extent of his pain at the loss of almost every single thing of import to his life - Robert, Rene, the Enterprise, and now even Starfleet.

Wanting only to comfort him, Beverly sat down next to him.

For a moment he permitted himself the luxury of looking at her. She was radiant tonight. The lacy shift like garment that she was wearing only enhanced her attractiveness to him. Reaching over to her, he lightly grazed his hand against the rose point lace of her bodice. His fingers lingered for a minute.

"Beverly, you must understand it has been a very long time since I've shared living quarters with anyone, much less my lover. If I seemed a bit hesitant when I came in, it was only because I hadn't expected you to come here quite so soon."

"Thereby announcing the change in our relationship to everyone."

"I imagine that even the admiralty has received memos about our relationship by now." He smiled, somewhat embarrassed by everything. "I've never been comfortable with the notoriety that seems to come with the position of starship captain. Even now, when I no longer have such a status, my actions are still observed."

"Jean-Luc, you could be a simple terra-farmer or a vintner, and still command the attention and respect of anyone who meets you."

"I think you exaggerate, Beverly."

"No, I'm not." She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips, her right hand resting against the nape of his neck, slowly massaging it. Unconsciously she caressed him, just enjoying a moment that had, until now, been the stuff of which only her daydreams were made. She decided to give him another kiss, an openmouthed one that started kindling flames that had only been dampened. She moved away from him, though her hands still rested on his shoulders, abstractedly rubbing the tensing muscles. "Jean-Luc, we'll be late."

He embraced her, pulling her toward the bed, lowering her backwards onto the cocoa brown and orange coverlet, before he kissed her again. "Yes, I rather believe that we will be late."

Meanwhile, on another deck, in a private dining room at one of the better Tarsasian establishments in the Starbase, Data stood waiting by the entrance, wearing his impeccably neat dress uniform, counting the seconds. At 1935 hours, Riker showed up, wearing his dress uniform and his famous trademark grin, Number Two.

"Data, what are you doing here?"

"I was wondering where you were, Commander."

Riker looked around the dining room, noting that all was in readiness for the dinner. Against the curved space windows of an outside wall overlooking the planet rise of Tarsas III - a planet that was almost identical to Earth - as well as other portions to the restaurant, were several tables laden with chilling wines, ales, canapés and elaborate desserts, most of which were chocolate based.

"I told everyone to meet at 2000 hours."

"Incorrect, Sir. I distinctly heard you tell Captain Picard to meet at 1900 hours."

Riker heartily laughed, understanding how Data could have made a mistake. "Well, I only told Jean-Luc and Beverly that time. I didn't want them to be late for our last supper together."

“Sir, I do not understand. Captain Picard is one of the most punctual humans that I have ever observed. Why would you give him and Dr. Crusher an incorrect time?"

"I wanted to keep the Captain punctual, Mr. Data." Riker was grinning as he said it, though he could see that the android was clearly puzzled. "Think about it, Mr. Data. Access the honeymoon period."

Data did just that. "I still do not understand, Commander."

Will sighed in exasperation, but before he could further his explanation, Deanna Troi made her entrance.

Will Riker had always thought of Deanna as beautiful. He had seen her through many stages of her beauty from a young innocent coed to a woman in full control of her destiny. But tonight, he doubted if she had ever been more beautiful than she was at this moment.

She wore a gown of shimmering molten ruby which was a startling contrast against her fair ivory skin. Her hair was long and flowing against her off the shoulder neckline, which was quite demure by her mother's standards. Her only adornment was a bandeau of darkly glinting stones in the crown of her hair. And when she smiled at him, Will felt his heart stop pounding in the presence of his Imzadi. She was too lovely for mere words.

The only thing that could surprise him about Deanna this night, was that she was alone. Will looked about for Commander Worf.

Just as he was thinking it, Worf came into the room, and from the way he was trying not to glare in Deanna's direction, Riker wondered if Worf had already tried to treat Deanna as if she were a Klingon female. If he had Riker just might need to be around in order to comfort his friend, or better yet, his Imzadi.

The next person to enter the dining room was Sergeant Morton. He looked decidedly uncomfortable about being there.

Riker put on his best neighborly smile and greeted him.

"Commander," Chip cordially stated, looking about the private dining room. "The Tarsas Sar has never looked better."

"What?"

"This restaurant, Commander. It is a good place to eat."

"Good to know, Sergeant." Riker glanced about, hiding his displeasure at the man's presence. "Is there a problem?"

"Well, let me put it this way, Commander. There's my boss, Commander Quinteros. There's you. There's this here Klingon. There's liquid refreshment." He pointedly stared over at the   
refreshment table, and then raised his hand as if to stop Riker from commenting. "And no, I am not going to officially bother to notice exactly what liquids are over there." He jerked his thumb toward Data. "And then there is this whitey-faced fellow that Commander Quinteros wants to add to his, um, staff. Until you leave this station, Quinteros gave me specific orders about keeping an eye on you. Sorry, Commander. I've been ordered to call out the marines at any sign of trouble."

"The space marines will not be necessary, Sergeant Morton. Tonight's dinner is just a small private party between old friends who won't be seeing each other for some time to come. I promise that there will not be any brawling." Riker couldn't help it. He looked at Worf as he spoke these words. Worf grunted.

"I know that, Commander. You know that. But my boss does not know that."

Data joined their conversation. "Commander Riker, if I may?"

"Yes, Commander Data?" Riker was trying not to act like a man upset with the current problem, but having security guards watching over the final dinner of the Enterprise's senior staff was not his idea of an appropriate farewell.

Data nodded in the direction of another part of the restaurant that could be seen through the curving window. "Sergeant, you and your security officers could have dinner over there. You can watch our dinner yet not intrude."

Sergeant Morton looked expectantly at the android. "And?"

Data thought for a moment. "I would be most pleased to pay for your dinner."

"And?" Morton hinted.

"And for your men, Sergeant."

"And?" This time Morton's hint was more than obvious.

Data looked over at Riker who shrugged. He glanced at Deanna who mimed picking up a drink. Data nodded, understanding Deanna's suggestion. "And, if after the dinner, when you and your people are off duty, I would be most happy to pay for any drinks that you might care to imbibe."

Morton slapped Data on the back. "You're not a bad sort - for an android." He walked over to the door. "You gave me your word of honor, Commander Riker." Riker nodded. "Pleasure doing business with you gentlemen - and my lady." He pointedly looked at Worf. "And Klingon, mind your manners!"

Worf just growled.

After the man had departed, Riker breathed a loud sigh of relief, relaxing. He turned to look at Data. "You're learning, Data."

"Learning what, Sir?"

"The ways of the universe, Data. The ways of this universe."

Boisterous laughter could be heard as the door swished open. Geordi sauntered in, apparently in good humor over something one of the security guards had said to him. "Commanders!" he loudly greeted. He looked about the room. "Great spread." He zeroed in on the refreshment table. "Could I get anyone a drink?"

Deanna took his arm, and they walked over together. "Geordi, you're in fine spirits this evening," she gaily commented, matching his mood. She had other reasons besides Geordi's company to be cheerful. Both Riker and Worf were unsettled by her. And all she could think of was good! After their little contretemps at the wake, and the way they had embarrassed her by fighting, she was not in a charitable mood toward either commander at the moment.

"I just got great news, Deanna," Geordi blurted out, as he poured her a glass of champagne. He idly noted that the label read Château Picard, and wondered if the wine came from the captain's family vineyard.

"I can tell." She took the flute of champagne from his hands and watched as he poured himself some ale. She had a suspicion that it was Romulan, but she wasn't going to openly mention the possibility of an illegal potable at this dinner.

"A couple of hours ago, I got a sub-space message from Leah Brahms!"

The way he said her name told Deanna everything about Geordi's feeling for the scientist. She wanted to caution him about not being too hasty with his heart, but now was not the time to be a counselor.

"I thought that you wanted to stay on board a starship, Geordi."

"Yeah, I do. But I've already worked on Excelsior class starships. And with Le…, that is Dr. Brahms, I can work with her on creating new starship propulsion systems. She actually offered me a job as her assistant."

"So of course you said yes."

"You bet I did, and I even talked her into taking Reg along with me as well. I didn't see any reason why I should split up a team that worked so well on board the Enterprise."

"I really am glad for you, Geordi."

Geordi took a sip of his ale before he thought to ask, "And what are you going to be doing, Deanna?"

Before she could answer, Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher made their entrance. And a grand entrance it was indeed, for they were holding hands as they walked into the room. Riker whistled under his breath when he saw them. Picard was wearing his dress uniform, and he had never looked more like the epitome of an officer and a gentleman than he did this night.  
Beverly, on the other hand, was not dressed at all like an officer this evening. She was draped in amethyst silk that flowed in gentle curves about her shoulders down to her ankles. It was simple, elegant, understated and yet very sexy. But what made her truly beautiful tonight, was the expression in her eyes. She was happy.

Though his expression was haunted by darker remembrances, a similar emotion could be seen reflected in Jean-Luc's eyes.

Through the dinner that followed, everyone spoke fondly of their life as shipmates. The food was delicious, though few noticed it. Their minds were too full of what this dinner meant - the end of a most extraordinary period in a Starfleet starship's history.

When they'd gotten to what Riker referred to as the brandy and bull stage of the meal, the group was interrupted.

"Sorry, I'm late," Guinan remarked as she glided into the room, cutting a bright path of color in orange and apple red silk bedecked with sequins, the wings of her hat bobbing wildly. In her hands she held out two large bottles of something green. She handed them to Data, who automatically stood when she'd entered the dining room.

"Data, you'll be my assistant. Good evening, everyone. I've got something special planned for our last dinner together."

"Guinan," Picard wryly greeted, knowing that the lady's presence indicated a change in the proceedings.

She surveyed the refreshment table's contents. "Good, you've got everything that I need already here."

Data, with a somewhat bemused smile on his face, walked over to the table that had the other drinks. "Guinan, I think that you are in error. I have no record of you ever attending a senior officer dinner before."

"I've been to too many of them, Mr. Data. But, you're right. It's about time that I did attend one of this Enterprise's dinners." She turned her head and pointedly stared at Jean-Luc. "Don't you think so, Captain?"

"You were always welcome, Guinan. Though you had given me the impression that you preferred not to attend such functions," Picard politely replied, somewhat amused by Guinan's appearance and attitude. He knew his old friend too well. She was here for a reason.

"That was then. This is now." She turned her glaring brown gaze on Riker. "Now that you have crashed my ship and kicked me out of a job - you owe me, Commander."

Riker didn't know whether he should lose his temper or to laugh. He chose laughter. What he didn't realize was that one day, Guinan would always collect her debts.

"We are all out of a job, Guinan," he retorted. "We are all starting over."

Guinan started mixing things, pointing and nodded at Mr. Data when he did something right. When she reached the stage where she started pouring multi-colored liquids into tall cylindrical glasses, she continued speaking. "I am going to go visit my Father. My Uncle Terkim is planning a surprise millennium party for him. And now, thanks to you, Commander Riker, I have to go. I don't have a good excuse not to join in the festivities."

Riker looked about the table, wondering if everyone else had heard correctly about what Guinan had just said about her father's age. "Your father is a thousand years old?" He'd always believed that Guinan could bull shit with the best of them, and this statement was a perfect example.

"Actually, he's much older than a thousand years. He's lied about his age for so many years, I don't even think that he knows how old he really is." She turned to Data. "Gotta match?"

Data looked about the table that had been used as a bar. He reached over and picked up a crystal candle, carefully handing it over to Guinan. "Will this do?"

"I suppose so," Guinan grumbled. She reached into a pocket somewhere inside of the voluminous folds to her robe, and pulled out a large packet. She opened it up and removed something that suspiciously looked like a little pink paper parasol. She plopped it onto the glass and lit the tip. As it flamed, she took it over to Jean-Luc. "You're the captain - you're the number one guinea pig," she informed Picard.

Worf quickly stood and moved as if to take the glass away from Guinan.

"Sit down, Worf!" Guinan barked.

Picard waved Worf back, as he stood accepting the flaming drink from Guinan. Warily, he watched it as the flamed consumed the parasol until it reached the alcohol in the drink. There was a whoosh, and suddenly the flame turned into flaring droplets forming a rainbow arch above the rim of the glass. It sparkled.

"Drink," Guinan ordered as she played one of her favorite Picard games.

He knew her intent as he studied the drink, noting that beneath the rainbow's arch, he could see dark specks like islands floating on top of the now churning liquid. "What is this?"  
Guinan's all-knowing smile was her patented one, guaranteed to annoy and irritate all those it was directed against. "It's my own concoction. I call it Veridian III."

Picard directed a look that bespoke of knowing the lady all to well. He was not surprised in the slightest by her audacity. He expected nothing less from the lady who'd been his personal rascal for centuries. He drank the drink until it was gone. Putting down the glass he uttered, "It's not poison."

"Oops. My mistake." Guinan grabbed the glass. She poured him another one, but refrained from lighting the parasol, waiting until everyone else around the dining table had a glass in their hands too. She handed Jean-Luc the candle, then stood between Picard and Riker at the table.

Picard nodded slightly in her direction. "Thank you, Madam Guinan." He lit his drink then passed the candle over to Riker. Each officer in turn, lit their glass. Amazingly, all the drinks burned evenly together. Picard raised his glass.

"To the Enterprise, and the finest crew with whom I have ever served!" He looked at each and every one of them, as if he were memorizing the moment forever. Then, almost in unison, every drink poofed and formed its rainbow. They all drank a sip.

Riker raised his arm. "To Captain Jean-Luc Picard!" Everyone sipped again.

Data raised his glass. "Thank you, all of you. I will forever treasure our friendship and my time on board the Enterprise..."

"What's in this drink?" Geordi asked, finishing quickly.

"You really don't want to know," Guinan replied.

"No, seriously," Geordi answered.

"Seriously," Guinan warned, through smiling teeth. "Tell you what Geordi, I'll leave the recipe to you in my will. When I die, you can get it then."

Geordi was about to protest when Data added, "Geordi, I believe that a barkeep's secret recipe for a drink is similar in nature to that of a magician's trick. Neither should be revealed in order to maintain the mystery."

Riker added, "Guinan, I don't care what's in this drink. All I know is that we all would like another round of this out-of-this world cocktail."

"Then it's a good thing that I made many pitchers. Pour, Data," she ordered. She looked about the table. "And sit down, all of you. You'll start spilling the stuff if you continue to stand. I won't be responsible for you if you get any of the drink on your clothes."

Picard sat down, accepting another drink from Data, and then giving it to Beverly, who was seated on his left. He leaned over and whispered something to the lady. Everyone at the table noticed.

Riker stood, raising his glass again. "To the Enterprise and Captain Picard!" Everyone joined in with this toast.

Picard accepted the toast, and then stood, saying nothing for a long minute. He studied them all. When they were all looking at him, he didn't hide the pain he still felt as he softly stated, "To all those who have gone before us. To Tasha Yar!" He then sat down.

Beverly stood. "Jack Crusher. Walker Keel."

"Admiral Hanson, Paul Rice, Robert DeSoto." Riker added.

"Sylva LaForge," Geordi whispered.

"Sito Jaxa. Marla Aster. K'Ehlyr…" Worf spoke the names with sorrowful pride.

They all took turns around the table, speaking the names of all those who had, in some way or another, touched their lives.

Guinan and Data kept the flaming drinks coming. Soon, the conversation turned toward the future.

Picard leaned back in his chair, as he explained the plans that he'd made with Beverly. He was enthusiastic about becoming an amateur archaeologist again. He didn't make mention of what Starfleet was doing to him. But they all suspected.

Geordi informed Picard of his decision. Picard was pleased. "That is good news, Geordi. You'll be in a position to personally supervise the 1701-E when she is built."

Riker looked over at his captain. "Then there will be another Enterprise, Sir?"

"Admiral Gromek has assured me that there will be another starship named Enterprise. She even ventured so far as to reveal that one of the new class of galaxy starships, that they are designing at the Daystrom Institute at Utopia Planetia will bear that designation." Picard smiled at Geordi. "The future of the Enterprise is in your hands, Mr. LaForge."

"And this time, I can build her engineering department, the way I want it to be," Geordi agreed, pleased and excited with the idea of what was to come.

"Then, one day, you'll be the captain of the Enterprise again, eh, Jean-Luc?" Riker sounded like he truly wanted such an even to happen. He might desire the captain's chair for himself, but he did not want to get the big chair over Jean-Luc Picard's living body.

Picard drank a little more from his glass. "I think you'll have a better shot at the captain's chair than I will, Will." Riker started to protest. Jean-Luc waved him into silence. "It doesn't matter, Number One. Whatever ship is named Enterprise will get the very best there is. It doesn't matter whether or not it is you or I, Will. Just as long as there is another Enterprise to explore the heavens. After all, that is what we are really all about, is it not? To seek out new life. To boldly go…"

He didn't need to finish the quote. Every Starfleet office knew the unofficial motto of Starfleet, words that the first captain of the Starship Enterprise, James Tiberius Kirk, had immortalized more than a century ago.

Fearing that the party was turning into too maudlin a wake, Deanna brightly said, "Well, I am following your example, Captain."

Her words caught everyone's attention.

"And what is that, Deanna?" Picard asked.

"I've decided not to take a position back on Earth. Instead, I am taking a leave of absence. I am going back to Betazed to further my education."

Riker suddenly grinned. "Why, that's wonderful, Deanna! I'll come and visit you when you get lonely."

Puzzled, she looked at Will. "You said that you were going back to the Academy." She didn't like the look of his broadening poker gotcha! grin. "On Earth!"

Riker did what some at the table thought was physically impossible. His grin got even bigger, brighter. More teeth gleamed in the candlelight.

"I am going back to Starfleet Academy, Deanna. Except that I'm going to be the new Commandant at the graduate flight training school at Starbase G-6. Near Betazed. I'll be able to visit you whenever you need a break from your mother, Deanna."

Her expression did not change. She was too schooled at hiding her emotions to reveal her dismay at his change of plans. She thought that she was going to be far, far away from him. "That's wonderful, Will," she graciously replied, imitating her mother's smile.

Then a sound that had been only infrequently heard, echoed about the room. Worf was laughing. Out loud. As if he were finding the situation to be highly amusing.

"What?" Riker demanded. When Worf continued to laugh, Riker hid his confusion behind, "Aren't you taking the second officer's post on board the USS Endora?"

Picard controlled his chuckling as he explained, "Admiral Nechayev has changed Commander Worf's orders. He is now the new cultural liaison officer to Betazed."

Riker choked on the words cultural liaison officer, as he gasped, "That's my old post."

Deanna's ambassador-worthy smile did not waver. Only her eyes widened as she hid her feelings over the possibilities behind these postings. Maybe it was Guinan's alcoholic creation. Whatever. She had a headache. And she suspected that in the months to come, it would only become a more common occurrence.

"Congratulations, Commander," Data politely said, not recognizing the undercurrents to Worf's posting. "I am sure that Starfleet will benefit from having you as a cultural liaison officer. It is a   
position that one does not often hear of a Klingon accepting. You must be excited over the opportunity."

Worf didn't know how to reply to Data's words, except with the obvious. "Where are you going, Data?" He desperately wanted the focus of the conversation to move away from his plans. Even as he spoke, he continued to watch the reactions of both Deanna and Riker.

"I will be practicing my violin as I too, take a leave of absence, Commander Worf. I will be going back to Earth, as well as working with Commander Bruce Maddox. He has made some intriguing advances in his positronic studies, and I have decided to offer him my assistance."

Riker's mood shifted as he instantly became concerned over Data's words. "You're not planning on becoming a new and improved toaster, are you Data?"

It took Data a moment to sort through the commander's references before he understood the question. "I promise you, Commander, that I will never let Commander Maddox convert me into a toaster. Over the years through our correspondence, I have come to discover that Commander Maddox and I have much in common. He is, idiomatically speaking, not a bad sort. I think that I actually like him. I will further investigate these feelings when I reach Earth." Data said the words softly, as he tried to become accustomed to actually using words that were describing his feelings.

"I'm glad, Data," Jean-Luc stated, warmth creeping into his voice. "You know, of course, that if you ever have need of me, for any reason, you have only but to ask." Picard looked about his officers. "I have always considered all of you to be the best of Starfleet. And now, I can acknowledge you as my good friends as well. If you need me, I will be there."

"Understood, Jean-Luc," Riker agreed. "The same goes for all of us as well."

"I know."

Picard accepted these words as he unobtrusively slipped his hand under the table, and reached for Beverly's right hand. When he felt her warmth, he inwardly smiled. The tension in his heart dissipated at the reassurance of her touch.

"Well, I have a correction to make," Guinan tartly commented, before things got too weepy. "I'm not a Starfleet officer. I never have been an officer in any man's army - ever. I'm not about to become an officer in any man's navy. And I never will be an officer, no matter how many centuries I live, in any man's space corps." She looked at Jean-Luc daring him to differ. "The only thing that has ever mattered to me, though I must admit it took me a few centuries before I acquired the wisdom to know better, are people. Good friends. Good people." She lifted up her glass. "And all of you are my kind of good people. Only reason I ever put up with Picard as my captain was because of all of you. Otherwise I'd have been sunbathing on Walsh's world. As they say there: Here's Mudd in your eye…" She knew what that cryptic reference would do to Picard's mood as she raised her glass for yet another toast.

After drinking, briskly speaking, Picard said, "Will. Geordi." Picard nodded in the direction of the rest of the officers. "Did I ever tell you about the time when I was captain of the Stargazer, and was ordered to the Andromeda sector to retrieve a man named Harcourt Fenton Mudd? Now, there was a man who belonged in the scoundrel hall of fame."

"Like Okana," Data suggested.

Picard shook his head. "No. Okana was nowhere near Harcourt Fenton Mudd's league. Mudd was a master con, a man born to bedevil two different captains of the Enterprise."

"He dealt with androids, did he not, Captain?" Data inadvertently interrupted Picard. "Though a scan of the schematics of those androids indicate that they were not as sophisticated a design   
as anything that Dr. Soong created. However, my father did use some of their technology as a basis for the creation of myself." He thought for a moment. "One could even say that Mudd's androids are my relatives."

"Distant relations, Data," Picard commented.

"Cousins. Barely on the family tree," Guinan added. "Whatever." She fixed her gaze on Jean-Luc. "Go ahead, Captain. I want to hear your version. Then, maybe I'll tell my own."

Picard continued to tell his tale. After Guinan added nothing to it, Riker retold his favorite Picard story - the one where there had almost been a rooster in every pot on board the ship.

As the stories progressed, the only person at the table who was still tense was Deanna. She really wasn't paying that much attention to the stories. Her mind was still reeling with all of the possibilities of what could happen with Will and Worf and her mother all being on Betazed at the same time. Nothing good would come of this…

Only when Beverly stood to go to the lady's room did Deanna focus her attention on the moods of the people at the table. Sensing something, she went and joined Beverly.

"What's wrong?" she asked, the moment they were alone in the lounge.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly stated, knowing that there was no point in trying to hide her confused and upset emotions from Deanna.

"What is the matter?"

"He's putting up such a courageous front over all that has happened. He hasn't said a word of disparagement over anyone or anything. He hasn't complained about the way that the Admiralty has treated him."

"They didn't court-martial him. Isn't that good news?"

"It's why they didn't court-martial him that is the problem. The admirals didn't want to pillory him in public. But what they're doing to him out of public view is even worse. They're punishing him, Deanna. For doing his duty. They are making him pay."

"They're not going to give him another ship, are they?" Deanna sat down, carefully spreading her skirts about her, motioning for Beverly to join her on the Antarian style chaise lounge.

"I don't know. Jean-Luc doesn't seem to think that he will ever have command of a starship again. He acts as if he'll never even be an active officer of Starfleet again."

"But what about you? What are you thinking?" She reached over and touched Beverly's arm. "I sense so much turmoil in your own mind."

"I don't know what I'm doing, Deanna. I'm not even sure that what I am doing is the right thing for Jean-Luc. Becoming lovers…" Beverly bit her lip, turning away from Deanna's too-knowing gaze. "And yes, I've desired being with him for a very long time. Even when Jack was alive, there was always something about Jean-Luc that touched a part of my heart." She looked at Deanna, imagining that she saw something in Deanna's look. "And no, I never thought about being with another man when I was Jack's wife. But that didn't mean I was immune to the romantic lure that Jean-Luc cast - the challenge of the Starfleet captain who could not be tempted away from the love of his ship."

"Yet you are unsure about what you are doing, being his love, now."

"I don't know if I'm doing it for Jean-Luc, or for myself. Yes, it's very pleasurable being with him. I never once doubted that Jean-Luc would be the most superb of lovers…" Her lips trembled as she tried to smile. "In fact, he's skilled beyond what I'd ever pictured. And I thought that I had a pretty active and varied imagination."

"But you wonder if starting this intimate relationship right now, is what is best for Jean-Luc. And for you?"

Beverly nodded in agreement. "I'm not even sure why I started this relationship with him. Jean-Luc accused me of possibly coming to him out of pity."

"Did you?"

Beverly looked away for a second. Deanna's gaze was too intense.

"That's partially true, Deanna. He needs me - more now, than he ever has before. Some part of me answered that need. I liked finally being truly needed by him. I responded to it."  
Deanna thought for a moment. Then she carefully asked, "Has Jean-Luc ever spoken to you of Eline or what happened to him on the planet Kataan?"

Puzzled, Beverly tried to understand and recollect Deanna's reference. "Wasn't Kataan the place that captured Jean-Luc with their mind probe?" Deanna nodded. "He's never told me much about it, other than the fact that he had memories of a lifetime, as if he lived there for many years."

"It wasn't just memories of a lifetime, Beverly. It was memories of his lifetime - Captain Picard actually felt as if he'd lived and truly experienced, over thirty years of life as another man. Didn't you notice how he'd changed after that incident? More that the Borg or even his torture by the Cardassians, those memories altered him."

Beverly leaned back against the quilted gold fabric of the chaise lounge, trying to understand Deanna's words.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I know Captain Picard, perhaps emotionally, better than you do."

Beverly considered the counselor's words. "Then you've always known about his feelings for me - even when I didn't. What happened, what he felt, even his fears over my being Jack's wife."

"Yes. Jean-Luc was always honest in my psych profiles of him. He never hid his fears about serving with you. He only wanted me to help prevent any problems that might arise. He didn't want you to feel any discomfort by having to serve under him. He was afraid that one day you'd publicly blame him for Jack."

"I know." Beverly sadly smiled. "That first year on board the Enterprise, I had the feeling that he was waiting for me to yell J'accuse! at any of our staff meetings. In reality, there were no problems except the ones that Jean-Luc created for himself."

"I would add that the first year on board the Enterprise, I think Jean-Luc took more cold showers that Will Riker did."

"What?"

"Someday soon, you might want to suggest to Jean-Luc to recreate his Dixon Hill Holodeck program. He carries a vision of you in some sort of pink outfit foremost in his memories. Whatever it was that you did or said when you were in the Holodeck most certainly made an impression on him."

"Oh my." Beverly thought for a moment. "That's why he reacted so strongly when he thought I was leaving to go join the Harriman Nelson without telling him. He was really afraid that I was going to abandon him again, like he thinks that I did when I left to become CMO of Starfleet Medical."

"He's lost so much more than the rest of us in the past few weeks, Beverly. But it would only be cruel of you if you offer him the comfort he needs without giving him everything else that his heart demands."

Beverly took umbrage at her words. "Just what is it that you are trying to tell me, Deanna."

"When the Enterprise crashed, you only lost the place where you did your work, Beverly. Jean-Luc is afraid that he's lost his lifetime's dream. Right now, he needs you more than you need him. And when you consider how much he loves you…"

"He got over that. He told me so when we were joined by the KesPrytt. He said that he became used to not loving me like that anymore. Now, it's different. We are different."

Deanna shook her head. "Beverly he loves the stars. He loves being a starship captain. And he loves you. This is how he has defined his existence in his own mind for decades." Deanna reached over and held Beverly's hand, offering her sympathy. "He loved you then with all of his heart. And whether or not he knows or consciously admits it now, I can still feel how deeply he still loves you. That has never changed." Her expression showed that she understood some of Beverly's troubles. "Though most can keep little from a Betazed counselor, Captain Picard was different. I've known and counseled Jean-Luc Picard for years, and I admit that I don't understand everything about him. There is so much that he has always kept hidden. But this I do know. If he were to lose you now, it would be injurious. You are going to have to decide how much of yourself you are willing to share with him. To commit to him. Because if you don't include your heart, you will devastate him."

"I do love him, Deanna. But with the way things are now…"

"Beverly, forget the circumstances. Circumstances will always be changing whether it be on board a ship or on a planet. But you must decide to either love him and commit to him, or you should let him go. It is time for you to choose."

Beverly stood, walking over to the gilded door, avoiding her friend's concerned gaze.

"I think we should be getting back. Though I wouldn't mind being an interested observer over what would happen if both Worf and Will came here looking for you."

Deanna stood, smoothing her dress down over her hips. "You should have seen them at the wake. They behaved almost as disgracefully as you," she teased.

"I heard that they were only following a Klingon custom. And you know you loved every minute of it."

"You are trying to change the subject." She glared at Beverly.

"Actually, Deanna, I believe I was making my point." Beverly's smile bordered on the wicked as she returned to her lover's arms.

 

tbc


	4. Love in Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their lives, they are a changin'. Jean-Luc gambles the night away with a tender comrade. Deanna and Worf kiss in a garden whilst Lwaxana tries her hand at plotting. Leah, Geordi, Reg and Will have dinner. Data buys a violin. Oh, and Jean-Luc buys a ship.

PART 4: Love in Bloom

A.N.: Love in Bloom as Data starts a new life, and Picard meets an old friend...He goes shopping for a ship, deals with Ferengis, and then receives an unusual suggestion as to what he should do with his future

=/\= =/\= =/\=

He was casually dressed in gentian blue slacks and an identically colored woven tunic. He carried a knapsack. And he was dressed like any of the thousands of students that one could see every day rushing about the university campuses located in and about New York city.

There were two things that made this man stand out - his white skin and the fact that a student was an unusual sight in the hallowed halls of one of Earth's oldest surviving auction houses that could trace its very beginnings back to London in the 18th century. Few students could afford to buy an auction catalogue much less actually purchase one of the rarities that were offered here at auction.

The auction house personnel kept an eye on the student as he wandered about the auction preview, looking over the lots on display for the auction that would be sold the next day. He finally stopped, and picked up a sarod. Much to the amazement of the house's attendants, he tuned the instrument and started skillfully playing a melody on it.

After a few moments, one of the cataloguers who had worked on this collection of rare musical instruments, came over to the student.

"May I help you, Sir? Not many people even know what a sarod is, or how to play it."

"This Pakistani instrument is quite similar in structure to several Vulcan stringed harps that I have studied. It can be tuned to Vulcan chromatic scales as well. Shall I demonstrate?"

"I think, Sir, that it would be best if you put the instrument down before damage occurs."

"I detect no anomaly in my neural net reflexes. Therefore, there is little probability that I will damage the sarod. However, if you wish for me to place it down, I will do so." Data returned the 20th century instrument to its display rack.

The cataloguer, a nervous portly man in his thirties, did not quite know what to make of the man before him. "Are you interested in bidding on it? If so, you must first establish a credit history with this house."

Before answering the man, Data paused to consider not only what the man was saying, but how he was saying it. There was an edge of implied superiority in the man's voice that Data used to associate with Lore, Bruce Maddox and Admiral Kennelly. Choosing to ignore the cataloguer's attitude, Data politely said, "I am here to see the Jack Benny Stradivarius." Data reached into one of the many pockets to his tunic's vest and pulled out a data chip. "This should establish whatever credit history that you wish to know."

The man took the chip, commenting, "There are several conditions attached to bidding on the Stradivarius. The current owner insists that the buyer purchase the violin for performance purposes and not bid on it solely as an investment." The man sniffed. "Follow me."

Data trailed after the man until they reached the area where the violin was on display inside of a transparent aluminum case, and a force field. Data immediately concentrated on observing the violin before him. The rich patination of the wood's cross-hatching glowed in the cross-lighting of the display case. "A work of art," he commented, more to himself than to any of the other people milling about the display.

When the snooty cataloguer who'd met Data returned, his attitude had changed considerably. "Mr. Data Noonien Singh, Sir, would you care to personally examine the Stradivarius?" His voice was unctuous. It practically oozed. "The owner does require that all of her conditions be met by the bidders prior to the sale."

Data nodded. "May I play it?"

"You can play?" the cataloguer questioned. He opened up the display, reverently handing the instrument to Data. A moment later, the man had his answer as Data precisely turned the instrument. First, Data played a few measures of The Laughing Vulcan and His Dog, testing the vibrancy of the strings. Then a few more measures of a theme by Paganini were played. 

Glorious tones reverberated about the room.

After that, Data started playing the violin solo of the First Movement Allegro from Beethoven's violin concerto in D. As the minutes passed, a portion of Data's brain noted that the crowd about him was growing. And where before there had been the low murmur of conversation, now there was only silence. When he reached the end of the first movement, he stopped, was surprised by the sound of applause, and then looked at the man who had given him the violin.

"Am I disturbing you, or may I continue?" Data politely asked.

A sprightly lady of indeterminate age stepped forward. "Who are you?"

"My name is Data."

The woman turned toward the cataloguer who was still standing by the open case, his jaw still dropping. "Please tell me, Mr. Adjajian, that this gentleman is going to be a bidder."

The man slightly nodded.

The woman moved closer to Data and touched the ess curve of the violin. "This instrument has been in my mother's family for generations. Unfortunately, the only musician really worth a damn still in the family is my great-niece. But she only plays the piano."

Data then proceeded to play Love in Bloom, the theme song of a comedian from many centuries ago, who had once aspired to be a serious classical musician too.

The diminutive lady dressed in blue, was enchanted with his performance. "You clearly know the convoluted history of this instrument."

"I do have that information. Are you Mrs. DelaChancie?"

"Yes, Mr. Data, I am." She looked about the crowd, daring anyone to complain as she ordered, "Please continue to play, Mr. Data, if you would be so kind."

He proceeded to play Nathan Milstein's variations on the Beethoven cadenza. When he finished, when the applause had stopped, Carrie DelaChancie took the violin from him.

"I had a minimum price on this violin. Mr. Adjajian tells me that you have the credits. The violin is yours, Mr. Data. You're the first person who's been interested in it, that truly is a musician."

"I am not a musician by profession, Madame. However, I am studying composition at Harvard. From there I will go to the Lloyd Biggle school of musicology at the University of Michigan." 

Data respectfully touched the violin. "I believe that you have a contract with this auction house for the sale of this instrument. I am perfectly willing to bid on it at auction."

Before the lady could respond, the opening measures of Camille Saint-Saens Rondo Capriccio's Havanaise were played on a piano on the other side of the violin display. Data peered around the octagonal display, and nodded his head in acceptance of this musical invitation.

He walked over to the concert grand piano which was a rare Art Case Steinway. It was made of ornately inlaid and carved rosewood and Brazilian flame mahogany from the late 19th century. 

Data turned back to Mrs. DelaChancie, and took the violin from her.

A lady in a slate blue suit was playing the piano. She repeated the opening measures as Data added the pure tones from the violin. Almost an hour later, after playing some Chopin, Bruch and Sedtor of Vulcan, Data returned the violin to Mr. Adjajian. Then he smiled at the lady seated on the piano bench.

"It is good to see you again, Commander."

Her reaction was immediate. "My lord, the rumors are true. You do have emotions. I thought I could hear it in your playing!"

Data was surprised by her statement. "Surely with my interpretations you more than suspected that fact. I would be disappointed if you thought my performance had not changed."

Nella stood and hugged Data. "Mr. Data, what can I say? You were a brilliant violinist then." She looked at him, pausing for a moment to see if she could tell how much he had changed. She sensed that in many ways he had. "You are an even better performer now."

"So you know this man, eh, dear?"

Nella glanced over at Carrie. "Data, this lady is my great-aunt. And, Aunt Carrie, this gentleman is one of the best musicians with whom I have ever served." She could see that her aunt was puzzled. "This is Commander Data. We played together on board the Enterprise. I know I showed you the vid of our Chopin cello trio performance." Her eyes suddenly expressed her sorrow over the loss of the Enterprise. "Come, Data. Let's go get a cup of coffee."

Data nodded towards Nella's aunt. "May I suggest dinner, instead? I would be honored to be your escort."

Nella took his arm. "Delighted to accept, Mr. Data. Now you can tell me all about what has happened to Jean-Luc - and everyone else."

Data escorted the ladies to Baltimore. Several hours later, after some interesting discussions about the status of contemporary music, as well as a good meal at Hauser's, a restaurant that had been a Baltimore tradition for centuries, Data accompanied both ladies to Carrie DelaChancie's historic restored house.

"I stay with my aunt when I'm on Earth," Nella explained as she guided Data into the parlor decorated with an eclectic collection of antique furnishings and art work from many centuries as well as many cultures.

Data look with interest about the room. After the sterile, carefully planned environments of Starfleet ships and bases, he was ever curious as to how ordinary beings really lived.

"And it's always a pleasure to have you, my dear," the lady added as she entered the room, carrying a coffee tray. "Nella's parents are always gallivanting off somewhere doing exo-biological research. Personally, I find everything I need here on Earth." She placed the tray on a table by the Chippendale sofa covered in rose silk damask. "Sit down, Mr. Data. I'm sure that the two of you have a lot of catching up to do, which you politely refrained from doing during our dinner. I appreciate your consideration, Mr. Data. It's refreshing to meet someone with such an ingrained sense of courtesy as yours." She straightened up. "I'm going to bed, Nella. Program the house computer as you wish for the morning. I'll be sleeping in, tomorrow." With that she turned to leave.

Data stood, walking over to her and opening the door. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, Carrie. I hope to see you tomorrow evening at the auction." He extended his hand.  
"I've made arrangements for transportation tomorrow, to take us back to New York. Nothing personal, Mr. Data, but I do not care for your transporter technology even if it did return us from New York to Baltimore in only a few minutes. You may join us tomorrow, if you wish." She shook Data's hand. "You know, I am only selling the violin because it deserves to be played, and not locked up in a museum somewhere or placed in protective storage. Goodnight, Mr. Data. Nella, dear."

After she'd left, Data rejoined Nella on the sofa. "Your aunt is an interesting woman, Commander."

"Mr. Data, if my aunt permits you to call her Carrie, surely you can call me Nella."

"Nella," he whispered, pleased with the way it sounded on his lips. Data looked over at the Wedgwood black basalt coffee service. "I have acquired a taste for black coffee. I know it sounds odd coming from an android, but I find the liquid stimulating."

Nella laughed again. "Along with your human emotions, you seem to have acquired some human habits too, Mr. Data." She settled back against the cushions. "Tell me, Mr. Data, did they ever finish my plans for stellar cartography on the Enterprise before she was lost?"

"The stellar cartography lab was most beautiful, Nella. I was quite fond of it."

"I wish I could have seen it."

"I have the records in my memory. I could arrange for a viewing."

"Mr. Data…"

"Just Data to my friends. It is my first name."

With steady hands, Nella poured the coffee, adding several cubes of sugar to her own cup. The fact that Data had mentioned Picard's name caused no visible response. However, her heart was pounding as she handed Data his cup.

"Data, how was Jean-Luc when you left him?"

Judging by the tone of her voice, the lady's query was not casual. Data quickly referenced all known information about Captain Picard and Commander Daren. Subtleties of behavior that had eluded him before he now comprehended. The captain had cared for this lady. He softly spoke his answer. "He was well." Data carefully chose his words. "Jean-Luc's relationship with Dr.   
Crusher has changed, though."

Nella drank some coffee before replying. "Are you trying to tell me that Dr. Crusher finally got Jean-Luc?"

"If, by using the word got, you mean that have they formed a more close, personal relationship, then that is correct."

"I knew Beverly was hurt when she learned that Jean-Luc and I had been performing duets together." She sipped some more coffee. "Are they happy together?"

"I do not know if Captain Picard could be considered happy after losing his ship. However, they both seemed to need each other. And they do hold hands when they walk together."

"Then, I'm glad." Nella sighed, then finished off her coffee. "I only want the man to be happy. After all that he's gone through, he deserves a little happiness. And I hope that Beverly feels the same way." She looked at Data. "Well then, Data, tell me why you're really here on Earth."

"I thought it only logical that I return to Earth in order to learn how to feel like a human being. Now that I have emotions, I need to learn how to control them. I have taken a leave of absence from Starfleet."

"Well, I'm teaching at Georgetown right now. I'm also part of a group of amateur musicians. We try, as they say, to make beautiful music together. You'd be most welcome if you'd care to join us, Data."

"I shall certainly try to arrange my schedule, Nella. I would enjoy renewing our musical partnership."

She leaned over and patted his arm. "Data, so would I. And our friendship too." She pressed a light kiss against his cheek.

Surprised, Data paused to consider her actions. "I hope that we will remain friends as well." He kissed her back on the cheek, hoping that it was a fitting response to her gesture.

She stood and stretched, raising her arms above her head. "Come, Data. You don't have to go back to New York tonight, if you don't want to. My Aunt Carrie always has a guest bedroom ready. There's always a friend or spare relative looking for a place to stay. You can sleep here tonight, if you wish. Or, if you'd prefer, you can go peek at my aunt's musical library. She's got a few rare recordings that I don't think that even you will find in your memory banks. She's a true music aficionado and collector."

"Thank you for the invitation. I will stay - and sleep. I dream now."

"In the morning, I'll show you the treasures. We can compare notes." With that pun, she took his arm and guided him up the stairs. "Then, we'll see how well you can bid at auction."

=/\= =/\= =/\=

 

"Welcome on board the Adama," the man echoed. "I'm a Vorlo. Captain Ragner," he heartily laughed as he added, "Welcome, Captain Jean-Luc Picard!" He laughed again as if he were making a great joke. He extended his hand. "So, tell me what was the galaxy's most famous Starfleet captain doing on board a hunk of Plakled recycled metal like the Unk?"

The woman who had been kissing Picard stood next to Jean-Luc and clamped her arm tightly around his waist.

"Looking for me. Who else, Captain Ragner?" She challenged him, laughing as she spoke, curling up sensually clinging to Jean-Luc. Jean-Luc turned his head and inspected the slender woman who had dared to put her arm around him uninvited. There was a tightness, a sign of strain, about her dark eyes and pursed mouth, that he had not seen before.

"Were you looking for her, Captain John Luke Pickard?" the Vorlo asked.

"Yes. Oh, yes."

The was a ring of truth to his answer which the Vorlo recognized. Picard sent the woman a look that she could not misinterpret. For a moment their gazes connected. She was the one who blinked.

"His real name is Galen. John Luke Galen." She enunciated each syllable with a preciseness that almost grated. "Or, that's what he was called when I lived with him."

"Maquis?" the Vorlo snapped.

"Hah!" she retorted, with a nasty attitude. "The Maquis wouldn't have him!"

"You're not all Maquis?" Picard glanced over at the woman, automatically expecting her to answer him.

The Vorlo did instead. "I'm a friend of the Maquis for the right price." He leaned across the grungy table, coming practically nose-to-nose with Picard. "Are you a friend of the Maquis, Galen? Can I expect you to remain friendly to the Maquis when I do business with them on board my ship?"

The woman hugged Picard even more closely. "Oh, Captain Ragner, Johnny here can be as friendly as a Risian play leader during mating marathons, when he has to be." She patted Ragner's chest. "You worry about getting us out of Federation space in one piece. I'll worry about Johnny's relationship with the Maquis."

Picard leaned forward, almost bumping noses with Ragner. "Cheeky little brat, isn't she?" he cheerfully observed, starting to throw himself into the role that had been thrust upon him. 

"Always telling her betters what to do. Bossy woman." Picard suddenly turned, clutching the woman tightly to his chest, then shoving her backwards against the table. He twisted her arm that had been about his waist, forcing it into a position behind her back.

Ragner moved out of the way as he watched her flail against Johnny's arms.

"You bastard!" she screeched. "Let me go!"

"All right," Picard mildly agreed, stepping back, and then flipping her onto the dirty black carpet. Heaven only knew what the rug's original color had been.

She sat on the floor, pulling her legs up, then suddenly kicking her left foot in the direction of Picard's groin.

Picard dodged out of her boot's path. He'd been anticipating her reaction, grabbing her ankle before she could pull back. She tried to kick him as well. As she struggled in this ungainly position, he tipped her back even more, pressuring her downward.

"Hello, Ro Laren. You look like the Pah Wraiths succeeded in dragging you to hell. Where's my latinum?"

She stopped her struggling momentarily, "Hello, Johnny," she answered. "You're looking good - for being such a skinny fatherless son of a Ferengi lover! What money?"

"You know her?" Mela finally said something.

Picard was distracted by the distress he heard in Mela's voice. He unconsciously loosened his grip on Laren's ankle, which was a mistake because she booted his midriff with all of her strength. Picard crashed backwards, colliding hard against the table's edge before he landed on the floor almost fully under the table.

Ragner hung over the table's edge, rolling on his belly, extending a helping hand to Laren.

She grabbed them, pulling herself up. Ragner peered under the table viewing the sprawled man, and then looked back up at Ro. "What's he got that I don't got?"

She reached over and tugged on one of his dirty grey braids. "No hair," she explained. "I like my man to squeak when I clean him."

Ragner started laughing as he slid off the table, back into his chair. "We're short of space." He nodded at Mela and the children who'd been watching everything with a somewhat stunned expression on their faces.

"You his woman, too?"

Picard sat up, narrowly avoiding hitting his head against the rather mucky underside of the table. He didn't want to think about what the Vorlos were doing to the table to make the underside look like such a prime breeding ground for unnamed fatal diseases.

"No. She is under my protection. I'm taking her to her husband - he's Maquis."

Ragner leaned back, plopping his feet up on the table, motioning for his men to move aside. "What are you, Johnny? Pirate, poet, beggar man, thief?" He leered at Mela. "What do they call those Earthers, Ro?"

Ro stepped over Johnny's legs. "I think that it has been a very long time since anyone has accused Johnny of being a knight in shining armor." She looked over at Mela. "She's either paying him a lot of latinum or her husband has something Johnny wants. Or, he has something on Johnny."

"Mela's a friend," Picard firmly stated, imparting a subtle warning to Ragner and his men by the way he said it.

Ro turned back to Ragner. "Last I heard, Johnny was playing pirate and robbing proto-Vulcan archaeological digs. I also heard that he got caught by the Vulcans, too."

Picard pulled himself up. "The Vulcan security couldn't hold me. They had no proof."

Ro nodded. "That sounds just like you, Johnny. Never sticking around long enough to leave a trace behind."

"They got my ship," Johnny remarked, sounding disgusted with himself.

Ragner laughed again. "I'd like to hear more of your stories, Johnny. But, I've got a ship to run. And thanks to you and your little trick with the space pod, I'm behind my schedule." He pointed at Mela. "You! Can you cook?"

Mela looked at Picard for support. He slightly nodded. Then she looked back at the Vorlo captain, trying to match Picard's brave attitude. "I'm a good cook." She looked back over at Picard who silently nodded his approval.

Ragner nodded. "Good. You'll take the old cook's quarters. I spaced the old one when he was late with my supper." He jerked his head in the direction of the twins. "Keep those kids out of my sight if you want to keep them breathing," he warned. "Otherwise I'll sell them to the nearest Cardie."

"I think not." Picard spoke quickly, his voice bespeaking a deadly promise. "No one will touch those children, much less a Cardie!"

Ragner studied Picard for a minute, seeing something beyond the dirty clothes and the brave words. "Any man who hates Cardies has a berth on my ship." He turned, speaking the order to one of his men. "Tomorrow, find this man a job." Ragner then looked at Ro Laren. "Take him to your quarters. Keep him there. I'll see you both at the end of the first shift. I wouldn't advise bothering me before then if you want to keep your skins intact.

"Merde!" Ro Laren said under her breath.

Jean-Luc heard her curse. "I believe that's my line."

"Follow me," she ordered, ignoring the rest of the crew still in the conference room. They hooted and hollered as she left, half-dragging Jean-Luc by the arm. "Don't say anything!" she cautioned under the noise that the men were making.

"At the moment, I can't think of a single thing that I'd like to say in public," he countered as he followed her lead down a corridor.

"That Vorlo always likes to keep track of me," she commented as they walked. "Everything I do and say, he watches. He seems to notice every little thing."

"In that case…" Picard stepped into a doorway, pulling Ro Laren into a tight embrace, his hands fondling the sleek curves revealed by her skin-tight red jumpsuit. He buried his face against her neck. "Where can we talk?" he whispered against her ear lobe.

"I'll try to fine some place safe," she responded, her hands roving over his body too.

Even though she knew he was only play-acting, the way he was feeling her was bringing about certain unbidden, unexpected responses. Her blood rushed to her head as she forced herself to remember that in all likelihood, the man caressing her body hated her to the very depths of his soul.

Someone walked by them in the corridor. Though the passerby jested in a language unknown to the captain, the crude nature of the remark needed no universal translator.

"This way, Johnny," she instructed, ducking down a much smaller side corridor, an off-shoot to the main one they'd been traveling.

Once inside the little rooms that comprised her quarters, she pulled him back into her arms, kissing him with a fervid passion that was not quite an act.

He forcefully shoved her away from him, gulping air as he tried to hold on to his composure. His instinctive response, when he had first sighted Ro Laren had been to yell at her until his throat gave out and turned hoarse. His second impulse was to shake her by the shoulders until she screamed, throttling her until she begged for mercy. He liked the idea of Ro Laren begging him for mercy. In his deepest, darkest thoughts, he'd often dreamed of what he would do to Ro Laren if he'd ever gained the pleasure of her company again.

"Still haven't forgiven me, eh, Johnny? Laren postured, striking a provocative pose, almost as if she weren't alone in the room with Picard.

"Did you really think I really would forgive you, Ro? That I could even consider it?"

In a voice quavering with bravado and something else, she dared to ask, "You sound as if I broke your heart, Johnny." She daringly added, "Did I?"

"Yes." His answer was truthful. For a moment he stared at her, the truth of his hurt hidden in the depths of his gaze.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, seeing it, knowing that what had been between them had been more than just a professional relationship.

For a second, he knew that she was telling the truth. But her honesty did not give him any answers to the questions that he had.

"What's going on, Laren?" He forced himself to sound calm and reasonable, in spite of his overwhelming urge to rant and yell.

He wanted to pummel her flesh, to hurt her until her pain equaled that which she had inflicted on him. He wanted to kiss her until she pleaded… for something…  
With a mental jerk, he cleared his head, shaken by the directions of his thoughts.

"Did you say something, Ro?" He realized that she was looking at him with concern.

"When was the last time you rested, Johnny?"

"You know, Laren, I really don't remember. It must have been a few days ago on board the Unk." He responded automatically to the concern in her voice. And then, who she was and what she   
was and where she was struck his consciousness forcefully. Ro Laren may be acting like a friend, helping him escape imprisonment or a fate worse than death. It didn't matter. She was still Ro Laren, traitor to Starfleet. She had betrayed him. He pulled himself together.

"And don't call me Johnny. I don't care for it." He was irritated by her presumption, and then was annoyed with himself for revealing it. He was Captain Jean-Luc Picard and it was about time that he remembered it.

Somehow, she guessed what he was thinking. "I don't need your permission to call you whatever I like. Besides, I don't think you'll answer to darling."

"You haven't the right." The moment he said it, he regretted it. A brief look of pain flashed in her eyes. His words had hurt her when she was only trying to help him. And then he was angry with himself for even noticing. Or caring.

"We should talk." His tone was brusque as if he didn't or wouldn't care.

"I'd rather do something else," she proposed as she started to undo the black metal clasps down the front of her too-tight jump suit. Her fingers stopped at her zipper.

He wasn't so tired that he didn't sense the continued implied warning behind her words, even as she undressed. "What?" He wasn't sure if what he was seeing was real, or some sort of sleep deprivation delusion. Though he couldn't consciously recall ever fantasizing about the undressing of his former helmsman.

"Sit down, Johnny," she ordered.

He sat down on the only place that was empty in her small, plain room. Her bed. The only chair by a table was covered with discarded garments and an orange deep-space suit.

"Ragner likes to watch," she explained as she continued to undress. "He's always monitoring me." She looked in the direction of the device.

Once Jean-Luc located its position on the wall, he realized how completely the monitor covered the action within the cabin. They were being observed at all times.

"And now that you're sharing my cabin, I don't think he'll ever turn the damn viewer off. He'll want to see and hear everything that we do."

"Laren, how did you ever get involved with such a man?"

"Last time I had any real choices in my life, I was living with you."

Their words sounded like a lover's quarrel. He followed her lead, accepting that she was helping him for reasons best not explored at the moment. His instincts told him that the danger about them was tangibly real.

"You chose to leave." He spoke carefully, more to any eavesdropping audience than he did to her, as if her departure hadn't really mattered that much to him, one way or another.

"Did you really give me any choice, Johnny? I didn't want to leave. You made me go." For a brief moment, the pain was there, in her voice, in her eyes. If Picard had not insisted that she comply with Admiral Nechayev's ill-begotten plan; if he had not literally blackmailed her, forcing her to continue spying on the Maquis when she had wanted to quit, Ro Laren would still be a Starfleet officer.

She dropped her suit., stepping out of it. Ro then sat down next to Johnny on the bed and worked on taking off her boots. When she was finished, she stood, only wearing a thin black skimmer top and a thong.

He had two choices at the moment - be a gentleman or pretend to be her ex-lover. Not that he had a real option. He was too much of a man not to respond to her near-nude physical presence, if only on a visceral level.

She faced him, looking down into his eyes. She placed her hands on his shoulders. Quietly, but with the deadliest of intent she asked, "Are you here to spy on me? On the Maquis?"

"I didn't know you were here, Ro." He reached up and put his arms about her waist, idly stroking upwards, slowly moving his hands about her ribs to rest them on her waist. "And I don't give a damn about what the Maquis are doing at the moment. I'm not required to…" He looked into her dark eyes, willing her to see that he was speaking the truth. "I was only on board the Unk because I was on my way to a job - a dig on Gaudete II."

"Why didn't you use your connections? Why didn't you use your ship?"

"I lost my ship, Ro." With this, he rested his forehead against her stomach, hiding what he really felt in the warmth of her flesh.

She finally understood what he had been telling her. "You lost her…" Her voice was soft, full of pain; full of comprehension.

He raised his head, gazing upward upon her visage, giving her a glimpse of how great was his grief for just a brief moment.

She just stood there, silently offering him her comfort. Then, she thought about the people she had once known and respected. "My… friends?" She didn't know what else to call the crew of the Enterprise. "Guinan? Will? Geordi? Beverly? What's happened to them?"

"Scattered. Some have joined the Maquis." In spite of the situation, Picard had to smile. "As for Guinan, she always does what she pleases. I consider myself fortunate when she even bothers to mention any of her plans to me."

The temptation to ask him more questions was too great. So, she bent over and kissed him lightly on the lips. The softness of his lips as he responded surprised her. "Come. You need a shower." With trembling fingers, she attempted to undo his vest.

He rebuked her. "I will do it, Ro," he stated more roughly than he needed to do.

She pretended that his words didn't hurt, exposing none of her feelings. She'd spent too many years of her life becoming a self-contained, self-controlled woman. She wasn't willing to admit to the fact that he still has such power over her. "It's more fun if I help." She pointedly glanced towards the monitor.

The anger was there - in his look, his touch, his actions. Swiftly, he removed his clothing, ignoring the monitor and disregarding Ro.

When he was naked, he stepped into the tiny bathroom and turned on the shower. He wasn't that surprised to discover that it was an almost antiquated hot water system, probably a by-system using the energy from the engines to heat the water. This system went in keeping with the standard of the other features that he'd seen so far on the Adama. And none were even a close match to the level of comfort that had been on board the Enterprise.

Slowly the cubicle filled with steam. Then he moved aside to give Ro some room as she entered the shower. They said nothing to each other, as he tried to assess just how closely they were being monitored in this room.

Ro leaned her head against the back of Jean-Luc's shoulders as she spoke in a low-pitched voice. "Ragner can only see us in here - not listen, if we keep our voices low."

"Are you sure, Ro?" He asked this as he reached over and grasped her right hand, placing it on his hip, knowing that this action could be seen through the shower wall.

"No." She made a sound full of pain and self-irony. It was supposed to be a laugh. "You, of all people should know that life's a gamble, and then you die, Johnny." She leaned up against him, pressing her body to his, softly saying against his ear, "Captain…"

He turned around so that they were both facing each other. "Careful, Ro. You wouldn't want to make a mistake, now would you?"

She moved closer to him, carefully massaging his thigh that was pressed up against the clear shower wall. And the fact that he was having to perform for a Vorlo just added to the reasons as to why he was angry.

"So we have to have sex in order to entertain a man who would otherwise kill me?" He grimly smiled. "You'd make such a great personal sacrifice for me, Ro?"

She shut her eyes, not wanting to see as well as hear the sarcasm and contempt that she knew he felt toward her. She'd never felt the full brunt of his nastiness before, though like all junior officers, she'd suspected he was capable of most righteous brutality. She considered herself to be very lucky that he hadn't caught her the day when she had joined the Maquis.

He said nothing. Instead, he forced his hips against hers reminding her that he was a man. Certain things can never be faked, and the evidence of his arousal was one of them.

"Scream, Ro," he ordered, "like you're enjoying what I'm doing to you." He shoved up even closer to her, using her softness as if it were a means of punishment.

"Anything you say, Johnny." With this, she reached up, and slapped him across the cheek rather hard. Then she screamed, yelling as if she didn't care who overheard her. "If that's all you can say to me after all this time, go fuck yourself!" She stormed out, slamming the shower door behind her, narrowly missing him.

He grabbed a towel, chasing after her into the bedroom. He draped the towel over the lens of the monitor. "Sorry, Ragner. I don't like spectators to my sport."

Ro stood in the middle of the room, staring at his with a defiant glint in her eyes. She wasn't sure if they were play-acting any more.

"If you're going to scream, Ro, I'd suggest you start doing so right now."

"What?"

"Scream." He thrust her backwards. She stumbled, retreating a step before he pushed her again. This time she landed flat on her posterior, on the bed.

He leaned over her, trapping her, forcing her down. He rested his weight on his arms.

"Why?" she asked, looking at him, trying not to give into the terror that this position always invoked. She was trying not to be scared. She was not willing to surrender an inch, until he gave her an answer that she could accept.

"Do you really have to ask, Laren?" He whispered his words against her lips. And then he kissed her, lightly, gently, offering her a touch of his soul's warmth. It was the first genuine, human, emotional action on his part that he'd made since she'd tackled him during his introduction to Ragner.

It worked. She softened beneath his touch, almost forgetting everything that was between them. Her arms crept around his neck, tugging him down, as she opened her mouth, letting him in. She was surprised by the sweetness of his kiss. She had not expected it of him.

Somewhat surprised himself by her willingness, he answered in kind, kissing her more deeply, losing himself to her unexpected submission, momentarily forgetting all the barriers between them. He moved her over until they both were lying side by side on the bed.

Something flamed between them. Something that had been born a long time ago when a defiantly brazen Bajoran had demanded that he trust her. Something that had continued to exist during the years since, even flaring not that many months ago when she had pretended to be a prostitute in a bar. This something was the unfinished business between them - a connection of which they'd never spoken, never openly acknowledged, or even admitted silently to themselves. Yet it was as real as the trust that had once been the bond between them.

He raised his head, looking into her eyes which were almost black with the rise of her unforeseen passion.

He didn't know how to answer the unspoken questions in her gaze. He felt compelled to say something though. "I should have known. You have always been a constant surprise to me, Ro Laren."

"That's nothing compared to the shocks you've given me over the years. I've been questioning my sense of judgment ever since our first meeting."

She grinned, suddenly entertained by everything that was happening between them. "You're not such an overly-stuffed uniform after all." Her grin broadened as she dared to touch him - lightly as first, but then more passionately inquisitive, as if it were a prelude for more to come. "You're even better than I thought - especially when you're not wearing your uniform."

Before he could voice an appropriate response, the door to her room crashed open. Ragner strode in, not caring in the slightest that he was intruding. He was flanked by two burly, armed Vorlos in pea-green jumpsuits.

"You know, Ro, if you wanted privacy, all you had to do was ask." With this, Ragner picked off the towel from the monitor, and dropped it onto the deck. Then he removed a Viridian disruptor from his belt. He slammed the butt of it against the lens, destroying it. "I thought you liked putting your tight little ass on display for me. I know I certainly liked watching it."

Sensing that perhaps some of Ragner's words were truthful, Picard sat up, resting against a bulkhead. He didn't bother covering his nakedness, somehow knowing that Ragner would view modesty as a sign of weakness.

"Don't let me stop what you're doing, Johnny. Ever since she came on board, Ro here has been rather lonesome. And she won't let me or any of my crew get near her tail. Shoots if we try. So, enjoy her while you can. The other Maquis tell me that the lady has a fickle reputation. Her lovers don't live too long."

"Thank you, Captain Ragner. I do know that," Picard politely responded. He wondered what Ragner was really trying to tell him. "You could have just shut it off if you didn't want to watch how I'm going to deal with Ro."

"What? And miss the only good entertainment I've had in months? Besides, I'd rather imagine what you're doing to her. I'll still be hearing you, Johnny. And I can promise you this…" He walked to the doorway. "…you kill her; I'll space you out the nearest chute a living chunk at a time. You won't want that." He ogled the nude Ro one more time. "If you beat her, she'd better be able to still perform her duties. Even though the Maquis are only on loan to me, she's still part of my crew. You can't hurt her - I am the captain of this ship. I'm the only one who has got the right to hurt her - and you." With that warning, he left with his men.

"An interesting choice of champions, Ro."

He then reached over and grabbed the mottled blue cloth that served as a coverlet. He grabbed the lone flat pillow, then pulled the coverlet over his naked body. "Replicate another pillow," he ordered, then rolled against the wall. "I'm exhausted."

Ro Laren elbowed him in the ribs. "Is that all you're going to say to me?"

"Watch out for the edge of the bed - it's wet. We never did dry off from our shower." He turned away from her, pulling the blanket up over his ears.

"Be like that," she muttered under her breath. She slid out of bed, jerking the blanket over. He pulled it back. "I'm going to finish my shower," she announced to his back. He did not respond.

She had almost made it to the bathroom when he commented, raising his head, speaking his words over his shoulder. "Feel free to take out the bathroom monitor, Ro. Unless you like performing for Ragner."

"Oh, he can't see that much when it gets steamy in there. I don't want to press our luck too much. I've seen him whip crew members for lesser infractions."

He ignored her, until she was gone. Then he turned onto his back, crossing his arm over his head, wondering what he was going to do, and how he was going to handle this mess. More importantly, how was he going to handle Ro Laren? Meeting Ro again had certainly made his life more complex. Somewhat stunned by all that had happened, and how swiftly he had responded, he felt as if he were beginning to get a headache. But he was too tired to think at this moment. He fell asleep even as he contemplated his situation, considering all of the possibilities, unpleasant or otherwise.

A few minutes later, Ro entered the bedroom wearing a short, red wrap-around, drying her hair with a towel. She knew he was asleep by the rhythm of his breathing. Sighing, she kicked the seat clean on the lone armchair, wondering why she felt so disappointed over the fact that he was asleep. The last thing she needed was the complication of Jean-Luc Picard in her life. Yet, there was a part of her that was so glad that he was back in her life. There was so much of her very soul that she needed to explain to him, so much that had been left unfinished between them on both personal and professional levels.

When she was done with her hair, she considered her next move. Though the dark blue armchair was upholstered, it had its share of mountainous bumps. It wasn't the most comfortable berth on board this ship, and certainly it was not a good choice for a night's rest. However, she'd slept in worse places before, on Bajor and in prison camps, when there had been no other choice. Now she did have a choice. 

And dammit, it was her bed! 

Deciding to be discreet for once in her life, she still wore her robe when she climbed into bed, grabbing one of the small throw pillows from her chair. Jean-Luc had spent too many years on board fancy starships if he thought that ships such as the Adama had replicators in the crew's quarters. She pummeled the small pillow's lumps into hopefully a more comfortable arrangement. Finally deciding that she had stirred enough to awaken a sleeping hung-over Barjoran varbog, she came to a conclusion. Jean-Luc Picard was either a dead man - or a man who was sleeping like the dead. In either case, her only prudent choice was to go to sleep too. In spite of all the adrenalin that had been coursing through her veins during the past few hours, she fell asleep rather quickly too.

Many hours later, she turned into the warmth in her bed, even more. Cuddling closer, she dwelt in that special place between recognition and dreamland. Even when his arm brought her closer to bring her to rest on his chest, she still half-believed that she was dreaming. She wasn't disturbed until she though she heard him say under his breath, "Eline…"

She opened her eyes. She really didn't want to wake up. Or move. Casting an eye toward the chronometer on the wall, she could see that she was hours away from having to report to Captain Ragner. Reality then struck her full force as she recognized the muscled, hairy chest she'd been using as a pillow. She grinned to herself. Never in her wildest imaginings - and she did have quite a fertile imagination - had she ever envisioned sleeping with Jean-Luc Picard. She idly considered the possibilities as her blood began to sing…

“Eline…” he mumbled again.

She wondered who the lucky Eline was as she mentally ran through the listing of all of the women that she had heard were connected romantically with Jean-Luc Picard. Clearly, the captain was accustomed to sharing a bed, based upon the way he was embracing her. But as for the identity of the woman, Ro couldn't hazard a guess. She didn't think that Jean-Luc could have had the time to form such a deep attachment with a woman reaching the point that he would have become accustomed to sharing his bed with her during the few months since she'd been gone and joined the Maquis.

She briefly considered that he might have married since the last time that she'd seen him. After all, being on the run with the Maquis no longer helped her be privy to the cream of the Starfleet gossip soup. But then, she discounted that possibility. Though she knew he'd only been following her lead during their discourse with Ragner, Jean-Luc was too much of a man of honor to have played all of their ensuing games, if he'd been a married man, or even a man who had made some sort of permanent, personal commitment.

Carefully sitting up, sliding her robe off of her shoulders, she studied him in the half-light of her cabin. The tired lines of his face went beyond mere fatigue. A tear slipped down her cheek as she thought of the Enterprise, and of his loss. Later on, though she would have to get him to verbally confirm it, Ro knew that he was no longer a Starfleet officer. That loss too, was   
written on his face. Other pain was there as well. Someday, she hoped that he would confide in her all that had happened to him.

She understood pain and loss. They'd been her constant companions almost every day of her life since she had been a little girl. Only when she had earned his trust during those early days on board the Enterprise, when she had become Guinan's friend, had she ever felt what it was like to be safe again - if only for a few brief years, and only as long as she had been in his service. She continued to watch him until his arm searched for the heat from her missing body. She made up her mind. After all, she was used to taking impossible-to-win gambles. Certainly the men in her bed had come to expect no other kind of behavior from her. So she decided to live down to his expectations of her. And if she lost, well, the worst she could expect was what she was already figuring on getting from him when he finally was alone with her and could speak freely.

She lay down next to him, returning his arms to her shoulders. For a moment she was still, listening to his heart beat, trying to match her breathing to his. Then she carefully turned so that she rested on top of him, crossing over against him with her bare breasts pressed against his chest. Her left hand carefully roved about his ribs, then moved lower. Evidently, his dreams had been as erotic as hers had been.

Ro was not an expert when it came to Terran males. Other than a rather memorable occasion with Will Riker, she had known little sexual intercourse with men from Earth. She usually preferred Bajoran males when she was in the rare mood to mate. Sometimes, when she was in a peculiar temper, she would choose a Klingon lover. But Jean-Luc Picard was a different sort of male. She suspected that his origins wouldn't matter. He'd be considered a rare man by the female populations of most humanoid worlds.

She supposed it wasn't fair what she was doing to him, but then Ro had learned that the universe wasn't fair a long time ago. And sometimes, this fairness thing could work in her favor. And it most certainly was working now. She stroked him with a more determined sensuality.

When she judged him to be ready, she joined with him, sliding her body on top of him.

With this movement, he finally admitted to himself that what he was experiencing was more than just a particularly erotic, vivid dream.

"Good morning, Ro," he greeted her.

She froze, blushing red, half-embarrassed by being caught out by him.

"You must have expected me to wake up sooner or later, " he idly remarked, somewhat amused by the stunned expression on Ro's face.

"Cap…er, Johnny. I didn't think."

He knew she was lying, but he wasn't going to chastise her for it. "That has been one of your character flaws, Ro Laren," he agreed. And then he just lay there, waiting for her next move.

She didn't quite know what to do. He had not yelled at her. He had not condemned her. And he wasn't telling her to get off of him. In fact, though it didn't seem probable, he was looking at her as if he desired to kiss her.

"Come here, Laren," he commanded.

Not that most of the officers with whom she had served would ever accuse her of being a good officer, but this was one order she wasn't about to disobey.

Their gazes locked. Something strong and bright passed between them. Waiting for him to respond was one of the most painful and wonderful moments of her life. He brought his hand up to her check, stroking the curve of her chin down to the nape of her neck, his fingers bending, moving her head close enough to bring her lips against his. "Hello, Ro Laren," he softly said, humor coloring his voice at the absurdity of their situation. His lips touched hers, and brushed them with a smile.

Fire rushed along her veins at this touch. She made a sound, a soft whimper of desire. His lips brushed hers again. She forgot everything as she burned, now sharing her heat with him. She was astounded at his sudden blazing reaction. He no longer was in cool control.

"Slowly, Laren. Slowly," he warned as he guided her. "We have all the time in the universe," he commented. Somewhere along the way, her robe had been discarded. A part of his artistic nature judged that a nude Ro Laren was a fair and lovely sight to behold.

She regained some control. "About that time we have - we only have as much as Ragner will allot us."

He shifted, moving them both to face side by side. "Fortunately, in his own way, that Vorlo seems to like you, Ro."

"I should have known that you'd have to be in command," she whispered, as she accommodated him.

"I know, Laren…" 

"NO! I have to be on top!" she yelled, pain suffusing her voice. She seemed almost panicky, a state of mind Picard never usually associated with her.

He looked at her face and saw demons there from her past, that somehow his actions had summoned. He didn't want to hurt Ro - not in this manner. He remembered what he had read once in her personnel file about her incarceration under Cardassian rule. And he thought he knew at least the source of some of her terrors.

"Of course, ma belle. Of course. Whatever you wish," he soothingly murmured, knowing that when they battled in the future, it would be on a fair and open battlefield, and not on this more personal, intimate plane. "Show me what you need, Laren. Please."

She stared back at him with hesitation, unsure if she really should continue.

He smiled, as if almost amused by their situation. "You are in command, Ro Laren. And that is something I've rarely offered, ma belle," he wryly observed.

She was lost in his smile. Whatever guilt she had felt for her unauthorized foray against his body was forgiven by the generosity of his gentle touch and his teasing words.

"Why don't you admit it." She started to recoup her inner fire. "You like a woman to be in charge, now and then."

"Only a fool would not."

Her smile turned into something glorious as she regained her earlier rhythmic motions. "I've called you many things over the past few years." She caught herself before she said something aloud that might be dangerous for them.

"I'm sure you have," he replied, under no illusion as to her volatile temper. He adjusted to her lead.

"But I've never called you a fool…" She bent over him so that her lips brushed against his. "You're my lover…" She took his lips, searing him with both her touch as well as her mind, knowing that she had been given the freedom to be herself with him. She knew of no more powerful aphrodisiac than this.

He took what she offered, and gave back in repayment, recognizing that her need was as great as his. Moments later, he started laughing, triumphing in their release, softly rejoicing in her victory as well as his own. Somehow, he knew that the sex had been inevitable between them. It had been a long time coming.

And when she was collapsed on top of his body, spent, satisfied at the moment, feeling his laughter rumble through both their bodies, he explained, "Blame Guinan."

She frowned, and found enough strength to raise her head. "You can talk of another woman at a time like this? You'll pay, Johnny."

"Guinan warned me once, Ro. She sort of mentioned that I should listen more often to you, since it was written in her stars that one day, we would be lovers…"

"Guinan told you that?"

"Guinan is always telling me such things. But if I'd spent all my time making love to all of the legion of women that Guinan said would love me, I'd have never had the time to do anything else."

"So, am I supposed to be flattered, insulted or what?"

He had to admire her pragmatic nature, even in bed. "Or what, Ro?" We will discuss where we go from here, tomorrow." He reached over and pulled up the blanket about their shoulders.  
"You're tired? And only after that light little workout?" she teased as she snuggled against him. "Why, I've barely gotten started…"

"Sometimes I think Guinan confuses me with Will," he whispered, as he felt fatigue flow through his veins where flames had danced just recently. He felt, rather than saw the reaction in her body at the mention of Will Riker.

"You don't know?"

He thought for a moment, then remembered some things about Will that he really hadn't questioned until now. He sighed. "How long?"

She didn't think that he was asking out of prurient curiosity, so she answered him. "Were we lovers?" He nodded. "It was when we met that Satarran probe." In a more normal tone of voice she added, "Will sort of forgot himself." She whispered to herself, "But it was an uncommon couple of nights…"

He heard her anyway, and started laughing.

"Get Will to tell you about it, sometime. I won't mind."

"Will forgetting himself with you, now that is something that I can understand. You have been quite a temptation, Laren. He thought a minute longer. "But you and Troi. She defended you and considered you a friend."

She tried not to care that he was speaking in the past tense about her friendship with members of Starfleet. So, she grinned a wicked little grin.

“Mon Dieu," he laughed, after correctly interpreting her grin. "I don't think that I ever gave Will enough credit. What you and Deanna must have done to him afterwards…"

"And he deserved every bit of it."

"I don't doubt that, Laren. Not at all." He sighed. "But enough about the problems of other people. What happens next?"

"Depends upon Ragner." She sat up. The blanket dropped to her waist.

Picard did not mind the view. He had, of course, never officially noticed Ro Laren as a woman when he had been a starship captain. But he'd always been appreciative of feminine beauty, and Ro Laren most definitely had been on the list of women that he had admired.

"Damn him!" she thought as her body responded to his touch with a wild primitive sort of ardor. She was reacting as if she were a love-starved fool, not an image that she wanted to present to this man. Yet, she felt almost helpless beneath his touch.

"I thought you were too tired," she remarked.

He reached up and brushed his hand against her ear, playfully fingered her earring, and then the wayward strands of dark silk that had fallen.

"Your hair - it's longer," he observed, studying the look he was creating with his fingers. "Enchanting," he added, not wanting to mention how much the new hairdo softened her look. He sensed that Ro would not appreciate such a personal observation. He then discovered that perhaps he wasn't quite as tired as he thought.

Over the years, the few lovers that she'd willingly enjoyed had treated her in many different ways. But few had acted as if they prized her. She tried to control her heartbeat. If she wasn't careful, she'd find herself loving Jean-Luc Picard too much. And that she knew, to the very utmost of her being, would be a very foolish as well as self-destructive thing to do. She'd spent a lifetime being alone. She dared not change her ways now, or even consider the possibility of having such a hope enter her life.

She tried to speak casually. "I didn't know you noticed such things."

He wasn't following the directions of her thoughts. He looked into her dark eyes, noting that they had turned into the rarest color of sherry. He knew that she was deeply affected by what he was doing to her body. "What?"

"The difference in my hair - I didn't think that it was the sort of thing that you'd notice."

"Ro Laren," he scolded, "I may have been many things during my life. Currently I'm just a poor archaeologist who has been waylaid on my way to a dig, by you. But I have always been, and always will be, a Frenchman in my heart. And when it comes to the women in my life, and whether I like it or not you are one of them, I will always pay attention. I will always notice - even when I am furious with you over your actions."

She leaned closer to him. "Does this mean that you forgive me?" she boldly asked.

He started laughing again, idly recognizing that he had somehow found a great deal of laughter in his life, now that he no longer was a starship captain. "You do like to live dangerously, Ro Laren. Now if you would care to direct your more personal attention to more pressing, important matters…”

She too laughed, teasing his flesh as she so desired her own to be touched.

But he had to be honest with her before he induced her to do more touching. "It wouldn't be appropriate to discuss your forgiveness at the moment," he warned.

"So, you're willing to sleep with your enemy?" she countered, drawing away from him, no longer feeling quite as amorous as she had, moments earlier.

He knew that he'd made a tactical error but he valued honesty more than he did his personal pleasures. "I have never thought of you as my enemy, Ro Laren."

"Just a foolish, misbeguided soul, eh, Johnny?"

She was quick to anger. Picard had never considered this to be one of her better, more favorable personality traits. But he had to respect it. "Misbeguided - no. Foolish, yes - sometimes," he amended.

"And just what is it about me that you consider to be foolish?"

Choosing his words carefully, he explained, "You're championing of me to Captain Ragner comes to mind."

She snorted. "You're right about that. What else? Don't be afraid to add that you think I've been foolish in some of my actions."

"No, you were honest in what you did. I can admire that even as I hate you for it - your actions that is - not you."

Tears threatened to fall. She was disgusted with herself for being so weak; for letting this Starfleet officer's opinion mean so much to her.

"So you're not going to forgive me."

"Only after I've forgiven myself for forcing you to make such a terrible choice with your life. I was a fool not to listen to everything you were trying to tell me - and should have told me." She had to nod her head in agreement with these words. "But you were responsible too, Ro."

"How so?”

"You did not trust me enough."

She moved closer again, whispering, "But do you trust me enough, now?"

"Yes," was his answer as he kissed her. "My problem has been that I always have trusted you, Ro Laren - even when I knew it was not wise…" This time his kiss seared their minds as well as enflamed their bodies. He'd continue his moral debate at a much later moment. Right now, he had more pressing desires to occupy his time.

In his captain's quarters, Ragner shut off the monitors to Ro's quarters. He had seriously questioned the identity of the man now sharing Ro's bed. Mistrusting everyone and everything was one of the reasons why Ragner was still alive, not to mention having gained the rank of a Vorlo ship's captain, which was a feat few accomplished much less lived long enough to enjoy. Only a fool or a very bad con artist would book passage on a ship using the name of one of Starfleet's most notorious captains. Ragner knew that this Johnny was neither one of those choices. Yet the Unk captain had been sure enough of this passenger that he hadn't even tried to disguise his non-Federation activities from Johnny and the woman Mela. And then that captain had even been imbecile enough to try to cheat him - Ragner - the finest Vorlo free-trader in the Federation and territories beyond. Ragner had no choice but to destroy the fools.

Ragner pondered the role of fate in his life and those around him. If he hadn't seen a woman and two children's names and ages on the passenger list, he would have never tried to find the missing escape pod from a ship whose own crew had been inept enough to help him blow themselves up.

His only concern when he'd learned of the missing pod was that there was a poor woman with her kids floating around an asteroid belt. Not that he was a sentimental sort, but Ragner wouldn't be accused of abandoning a family to their deaths. But that was before he discovered that the pod was being piloted by a fellow skilled enough to negotiate an asteroid belt in a ship that measured its flight in kilometers per minute instead of microseconds. The ensuing game of Targ and Klingon with the escape pod had been fun. Vorlos by their very nature, enjoyed having fun almost as much as they liked making illegal profits. Yet, the very way that Johnny had maneuvered the pod bespoke of great expertise as a pilot, the kind of skill that one learned in Starfleet. Still, this knowledge didn't fit in with the passenger.

And then there was the matter of Ro calling him Galen. For Ragner had heard of Galen - two Galens as a matter of fact. One was an archaeologist which is what this Galen was claiming to be. The other was a pirate who raided archaeological digs for profit, which was also what this man claimed to do.

Ragner trusted Ro, as much as he trusted anyone on board his ship. She vouched for Johnny. But it wasn't until Ragner had heard Johnny's words about her hair that he knew that at least part of what Ro had told him about the man was the truth. Spies didn't remember things like commenting about a woman's hair. That was the response of a man who was familiar with an old lover.

He also concluded that if the man had been Starfleet, it had been a long time ago. It no longer mattered. If this Johnny were really Jean-Luc Picard, he would have never become personally involved with a woman such as Ro. The nature of Picard's character was spread across the stars, and the man had a very discreet reputation when it came to his women. Yet, Ragner did not doubt in the slightest that this Johnny was, for the very moment at least, Bajoran property. And the real Jean-Luc Picard would never be involved with a battling bitch of a Bajoran. Whoever he was, Johnny wasn't likely to be the Jean-Luc Picard.

He debated whether or not to tell Ro and Johnny that he'd turned off the monitors. Knowledge that someone was watching or listening sometimes added a certain spice to the act of mating. Yet, Ro did have a right to know that he was trusting her friend on a limited basis. Ragner prided himself on being considered a fair man by his crew. And they did consider him to be a fair man - for a Vorlo.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

It was a fair day on Betazed. The sun was spreading its cheery warmth everywhere. Birds were singing blithe little happy tunes. Flowers were doing swaying dances under the guidance of mild breezes. In short, it was the best kind of day that this spectacularly beautiful planet had to offer.

Deanna Troi, unfortunately, was not enjoying any of it. For Deanna Troi had a headache. In fact, she had several of them, if she ever decided to list each and every person that were the primary causes of giving her a headache.

The first on her list of woes was Deanna's cantankerous Klingon, Worf. He was not a happy camper, to put it mildly. Deanna had never before suspected that Rear-Admiral Nechayev had a wicked sense of humor until she found out what the Admiral had done with Worf after the incident at the wake.

Worf had been assigned to the Federation Embassy under the directorship of Mark Roper. Though Worf didn't know it, he now had the very same boss that a very young Lieutenant, junior grade, William T. Riker had worked for years ago.

There were several security units that had been assigned to Betazed. A few additional units had been added since the Sindareen incident, though the main defense of Betazed still relied on Federation forces stationed at SB G-6.

A couple of hundred kilometers from where Deanna was ignoring the weather, Worf was pacing in a walk path about the perimeter of the Federation's main office building. He was stomping somewhat placidly for a Klingon. Oddly enough, in spite of his distaste for diplomacy when a good bat'leth could resolve the problem, Worf liked Betazed. Oh, he didn't understand these overtly emotional and demonstrative people, but he could appreciate their honesty and forthrightness. A warrior could say what he thought, and not have to hide his opinions behind the prettified words that the Terran humanoids seemed to prefer, much less insist upon.

Besides, the Betazoid food was very good.

Worf had been assigned quarters, offices and staff in the main Federation Embassy, a gleaming silver, blue steel and sparkling crystal skyscraper. To say that Worf did not feel completely at ease on the pacifistic planet of Betazed was not an understatement. But he did his duty to the best of his ability. And then, when he couldn't take the pressures of having to be nice to civilians one nanosecond longer, he headed straight to the Embassy's holosuites. They were the only outlet for release that he had. For on a planet of peacemakers, where else do you find a worthy warrior to fight?

Worf had recreated the various levels to his Klingon exercise program. What he didn't realize was that when he was exercising, he broadcast a powerful range of emotions - feelings which most Betazoids had only read about and then discussed to death. And rarely, if ever, had experienced.

The mess started innocently enough.

At first, Worf was plagued by a few civilians and some psychologists who were really, really curious about what it felt like to have the desire much less the compelling, almost genetic command, for a need to fight. Thinking that she had found a way for Worf to interact with the Betazed community, as well as alleviate some of his stress, Deanna had casually suggested to Worf that he teach his Mok'bara class. More inclined to do whatever Deanna wanted, rather than to teach a bunch of undisciplined Betazoid civilians who could make him yearn for the good old days on board the Enterprise, Mr. Worf started the class.

The first class had Deanna and Mr. Homm as the only students. But then the class began to grow as several of Worf's Space Marines joined. They somewhat challenged Worf's position since Starfleet's enlightened attitude toward a Klingon in Starfleet had not necessarily infiltrated down through the generations of grunts that had served in the Space Marines. For they were the children of the children who could remember fighting the Klingon Wars.

To them, the alleged atrocities and battle stories of their fathers and mothers were as vivid as if it had only happened yesterday, instead of almost a century ago. The prejudices in Starfleet that Worf had rarely if ever had to face on board the Enterprise under Picard's enlightened command returned with the challenges of these marines. These marines weren't willing to openly accept this Klingon as their commanding officer even if he was a Starfleet commander. They hadn't joined his class just for the exercise.

Ever since his youth, when he had first decided that going to the Academy was the path of honor toward Sto-vo-kor that he would follow in his life, Worf had dealt with such prejudices. He knew how to diffuse or even when to encourage such feelings. It was, after all, the way to turn a group of marines into a unit. While they may not like having a Klingon as a commanding officer, nevertheless they would learn to go through hell and back, when ordered to do so by him.

But the emotions evoked by these marines as well as Worf's feelings of restraint, acted as if they were a clarion call to the Betazoids. The Betazoids were fascinated. Everything from the unstable nature of hate to the depths of prejudice to the ever-present anger that such feelings aroused attracted the Betazoids.

The Betazoids started coming to the class. A few at first, but then they grew into crowds.

Worf dealt with the residents of this planet with the politeness and respect expected of a Starfleet liaison officer and lieutenant commander. And when he was done he took his frustrations out in the holosuites. He thereby created a self-defeating cycle. The more he politely dealt with the Betazoids, the more stymied he became. Then, factor in the marines and their attitudes and actions. The stronger the need for release, the greater were his emotions. And the more the Betazoids came to watch and annoy him.

And during a beautiful day on Betazed, Worf had reached the end of his patience. He sought out Deanna Troi's counsel.

He found her seated in one of her mother's many gardens. Each of Lwaxana's gardens had a theme. This much Worf had figured out during his few previous visits.

Gazing upon Deanna, who had apparently come to this secluded garden spot to study, but was instead napping amidst fuchsia orchids, Worf decided that whatever Lwaxana's official intent was for this garden's theme, in reality she had created a place solely to highlight the exquisite beauty that was her daughter.

Deanna's glowing red gown, a dress without sleeves, seemed to splash about her hips then flow into the surrounding frame of purple to rose flowers. Looking upon her, as she rested peacefully against her garden chair, Worf remembered why he was glad that he had been assigned to Betazed.

Deanna…

He had not really and truly been alone with the lady since a rather memorable night when he'd introduced her to Balalaika music. Events since that Holodeck visit had kept them apart. Until the wake, Worf had thought that merely the fates had joined into a conspiracy to keep them apart. But after the wake, Worf decided that Deanna had willfully misunderstood what had occurred between Riker and himself.

Yet, he had always found it hard to be angry with Deanna. Somehow, she had snuck into his heart and laid claim to it.

So he stood there, at a not too far a distance, and watched her, standing as if he were a guard from a place and time long forgotten, sworn to protect this woman with his very life's blood.  
Time meandered along as the sun inched toward the horizon, steadily followed by the rising moons of beauty. After what must have been more than an hour, Deanna finally was awake enough to sense Worf's presence. She opened her eyes and looked about, locating him under the shade of waffa trees. Somehow the dark colors of their branches from ruby to almost black seemed to match his guardian mood.

She sat up, stretching to work out the kinks. "Guarding me from my mother?" she asked, feeling relaxed enough to tease him. Though Worf had only encountered Lwaxana twice since his arrival, both experiences could be referred to as interesting.

"No. Mr. Homm," he explained. "Your mother left for an Alpha Quadrant Convention of Ambassadors on Pacifica several hours ago.”

He walked over to her and woodenly sat down next to her on the duetto chair, momentarily wondering if Betazed gardens ever had any kinds of chairs other than chairs for lovers. This chair was more comfortable than was indicated by its scrolling forms and gyrating accent finials. The mauve to ochre cushioned metal was in the shape of birds performing some sort of ritual. Considering that this was Betazed, Worf suspected that the birds were being depicted mating.

He was unsure of Deanna's reception. Some of the things that Lwaxana had said to him about his relationship with her daughter still rankled. And he was not completely positive that Deanna, in spite of her obligatory protests, did not actually listen to her mother every once in a while.

Deanna thought for a moment, trying to clear the jumble of emotions in her mind, in order to focus solely on Worf. "Mr. Homm hasn't been practicing his Mok'bara exercises inside the house again, has he?"

"No. If he had, we would have heard something break by now. I have been keeping him occupied." His smile held a hint of some mischief planned.

"Worf, what have you done?"

"Mr. Homm has never tasted Klingon blood wine before. Since I knew that your mother was gone, I brought some over for him." Worf failed to mention the substantial amount of Klingon blood wine that he had carted over for the manservant, enough to keep the man with his near-legendary capacity for alcoholic beverages occupied for many hours.

"That was very thoughtful of you, Worf." Deanna wasn't fooled for a moment by Worf's actions or attitudes. She knew that Worf viewed Mr. Homm's presence as a means for her mother to try   
and control Deanna's behavior while her mother was absent. Fortunately, her mother had yet to learn the extent of Mr. Homm's willingness to be bribed.

"Now, why did you come?" She didn't mean to sound coquettish, but the past few months had been an emotional strain on her. At first, Worf had refrained from trying to change their   
relationship because of some mysterious matter of loyalty that he felt that he owed to Riker. Now, that apparently the issue of loyalties had been resolved, though neither man had bothered to consult Deanna's wishes about the matter, Worf should have felt himself free to pursue her. Certainly, she'd been willing for their relationship to change. She'd done everything she thought necessary short of advertising to convey this message to Worf. But circumstances seemed to keep them apart with Lwaxana Troi's attitude being chief amongst them.

"Do you want me to leave?" he politely asked, tensing his muscles as if to stand.

She placed her hand on his thigh. Though hardly a force physically capable of restraining him, he heeded her unspoken request and remained seated, relaxing as best he could against the back of a chair he had deemed silly the first time he'd seen it.

He looked down at her arm, bearing just the slightest blush of gold from her afternoon in the sun. An unbidden thought contrasting the creamy color of her flesh should it blend with the darkness of his, crossed his mind. The urge to make it a reality with their bodies was so strong, he had to jerk away from her.

"What do you want me to do, Worf?" The erotic nature of his thoughts flooded Deanna's consciousness, changing the way she had been feeling. It had been a long time since she'd felt the freedom to act upon her own natural desires. Now she was in a garden, with a man she'd desired for a very long time. It was about time that she did something overt.

"This?" she suggested as she moved her hand.

He snapped back, shocked. The only way that he could have been more shaken was if he'd just learned that his father had really been in the pay of the Romulans. But he did not stop her finger's explorations.

"Deanna," he warned. A woman did not tease a Klingon warrior without knowing the consequences.

She was tired of his hesitation. "What?" she commanded, anger flowing through her veins, bringing a touch of rose to her ivory skin. "Is it too warm? Or not cold enough? Is it because we are alone? Or do you need an audience? Do you need wine? Ale? Or water? Shall I be submissive? Or must I claw and fight for what I want from you?"

Worf reacted to that spoken image.

She glared at him, daring him to do something as her hand still grasped him.

He reached down and removed her hand from his body, bringing her wrist up to his teeth. He bit her with just enough pressure to lightly break the skin, to draw a trace of blood. And then, inexplicably, he released her hand.

She looked at the mark on her skin and then over at him, trying to understand why he had let her go and the reasoning behind what he had just done. She knew what he was feeling. Her anger was a powerful aphrodisiac, echoing back and forth between them, magnifying their emotions with each reflection.

Instead of answering her unspoken questions, he reached over to his left, searching for something. When he found it, he released it - the hidden controls that turned their seating into a double lounge. They were now reclining.

He had to know. "Do all Betazed chairs convert into beds?"

"In my mother's house, they do." Deanna had to collect her wits in order to answer him coherently. The intent and direction of his feelings were overwhelming.

"Practical woman," he commented. Then he took her injured wrist and brought it back to his body, resting her palm against his chest.

Her eyes darkened as she gleaned his intent.

"Deanna," he warned for the last time, as he reached over and placed his palm against her fullness. He carefully squeezed remembering just how fragile human females could be. Then he studied the lines of her bodice. For a moment, he fondly reminisced about the efficiency of Klingon feminine garb with its abundance of snaps that easily opened with the briefest of tugs. But if there was one thing he'd learned about human females, even those who were only half human, and especially those females who prided themselves on their fashions like Deanna did, was that they did not like their clothing to be destroyed.

Deanna understood his problem Using her free hand she reached over and released the only shoulder strap she had, loosening her bodice. As if by magic, aiding with another gesture on her part, a second later the fabric dropped to her waist. He was accustomed to female nudity, especially after spending time on a planet where the populace seemed to favor undress over dress at almost every function, official or otherwise. But this was different. He had dreamed of her body for months, fantasizing about it even longer. And now he was faced with the reality.  
He placed his hand back on her. He tugged. She moaned. He smiled. Then he grew concerned. He raised his eyes from her bosom back to her face. "You will tell me if you feel pain? I do not want to hurt you."

"Worf, don't worry. I'm not as fragile as you think. Do as you wish, Worf. I won't break. But I will be wounded if I sense anything but a desire for pleasure from you."

She'd effectively reminded him that she was both an empath and a woman - a woman with desires of her own. She'd chosen him to fulfill them. He would ponder his good fortune later. Now, he had things of greater importance to do, to touch, and to stroke. He pulled her close and then he kissed her.

When she could breathe again, she took charge of their loving, by undoing the top to his regular duty uniform. She was, after all, her mother's daughter, a daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed. If she could cope with all that, she could certainly handle all that Worf had to give.

"Deanna," he sighed, appreciating the deftness of her touch. Knowing that he should do more than just to lie back and accept it, he reached over and pulled her close.

Her reaction was immediate, as she was flooded with both his desire and her own needs.

"Worf," she gasped.

He raised his head, worried that perhaps this was not the Betazed way. "What?"

"Don't stop…" 

Willingly, she moved positioning herself almost under him. With an urgency that surprised even herself, she reached down and slid the hem of her dress upwards. She didn't want to wait.  
He understood her mute instruction. He moved his hand down to her thigh, carefully scratching his fingernails against tensing muscles.

He was a masterful lover. Yet his consideration for her person was evident in his every touch, his every kiss, his every stroke. Before, she had considered the possibility that she could be in love with this man. Now, there was no question in her heart about what she felt for this Klingon. He was her lover - and her love. But she couldn't tell him for though he was Klingon, he was now kissing her with a thoroughness that was quite surprising. And he wouldn't stop kissing her for he was learning how to kiss, something that he sensed the human part of his Deanna would expect in the times to come. He would do anything to please her.

Then the rhythm between them changed. It became more ragged, more driven. Worf forgot everything but the urgency of his body and the shuddering of his woman in his arms. He lost control, throwing his head back, roaring into the evening air. Only when the pressure subsided from his body, when the necessity of dominance ebbed, leaving him physically enervated but emotionally elated, did he notice what Deanna had done to him. And he was proud of it.

Almost in shock over her behavior, she touched his shoulder. At some point during their lovemaking she had bit him hard enough to draw blood. Then her fingers traced the tracks that her nails had left when she had seized his shoulders and arms.

With stunned eyes, she looked up into his face. She was going to apologize for her actions, but the expression on his face told her that to do so would be unwise and unwarranted. Whatever pain she may have inflicted on his body had been most welcome.

He studied her face, seeing the stars in her expression. The Klingon ego was secure enough to know that he had put it there.

Gently, almost in awe over what had just passed between them, he spoke to her. "You are… unharmed?" He was worried that he had been too rough. He glanced over what he could see of her body in the waning light. The Betazed moons were in the new phase, and for some inexplicable reason, the garden lighting that usually turned on at dusk had failed to do so this evening.

Yet there still was enough light for him to see the welts and abrasions he had inflicted on her body during their lovemaking. He froze in horror. That which he had feared most, he had done. He had hurt his Deanna.

She knew what was upsetting him. She countered the only way she could.

"Worf, what we just did, our lovemaking…"

"Forgive me, Deanna, for hurting you," he groaned as he tried to leave her embrace. Guilt flooded through him.

She would not let him go. Instead she touched him as if she desired more.

"Worf, listen to me," she ordered.

Something about the way she spoke caught his attention. There was an element in her tone of voice that bespoke of annoyance, perhaps even anger. But there was no horror there. No revulsion at his touch as she sought to arouse him again.

Happiness grew in his breast, as he realized that she was not rejecting him. She wanted him. And from the way she was stroking her hands over his body, she was intending to make love to him all over again on this most wonderful of lover's bowers. He knew that he would never look upon new moons and ginger flowers in the same way again for the rest of his life. For they would always remind him of a paradise found.

"Again?" he asked, not needing to be an empath to intuit her reply.

"You're not too tired, are you?" she inquired, laughter coloring her voice. Her happiness was infectious, growing and merging into his.

He suddenly shifted, rolling over onto his back, forcing her to go on top of him if she wanted to keep her balance not to mention her position. For a moment he stopped moving, just gazing up into her beloved face, wanting to give voice to every love poem he knew - even some from Earth, to praise her to the heavens, to love her with his every heartbeat, to sing the songs of his warrior's heart.

On a branch above them, a bird sang its night song to its mate.

Worf was momentarily distracted by its lovely song, examining the tree, trying to locate the bird. "The Klingon home world does not have birds that sing at night."

He returned his gaze to Deanna, wanting to explain how amazing he found such creatures to be. But there was a look in her eyes that had had not been there before, as if she were remembering something - or rather someone else from long ago.

"We must speak, Deanna."

"No." She denied what he wanted to do. She wasn't ready to speak of the things that he wanted to discuss.

"Yes, Deanna," he commanded, brushing his hand across her breasts.

She reacted to his touch, willing herself to ignore what he wanted, and instead to concentrate on the desire that was rising between them again.

"Deanna."

She looked at him seeing understanding in his eyes, knowing that in some ways it would be more difficult for him to speak of his other loves than it would be for herself.

"Couldn't we talk tomorrow? There are other things that I'd rather be doing tonight."

She made her point as she leaned over to place a tender kiss against his lips.

"A Klingon warrior would never let a woman distract him," he properly informed Deanna.

"So, tonight you're a warrior, hmmm?" What she did to him next was so painful that the pleasure was too intense.

He groaned, then considered the best method of retaliation. "Tonight, I am your lover," he announced. "You may distract me."

"How kind of you to allow me to do so, Mr. Worf." What she did next startled him.

This time she knew she had succeeded in making him moan.

"Deanna…" he groaned, when he could speak again.

She raised her head simply to smile at him. "What, are you threatening me? Don't you think that I can't take it? You'd be surprised."

He lay back against the metal rest and their multi-colored cushions. "I think, Deanna, that before his night is through, I may wish that I were a younger warrior."

"Not up to the challenge?" she teased. "I've heard rumors about Klingon stamina. Obviously the ones boasting of such things have never loved a Betazed."

"You speak the truth," he surprisingly agreed. "Only the weak would boast of their stamina. A warrior would rather show you."

"I think I'll give you your chance, Worf."

He raised his head, about to suggest that she kiss him again if she wanted him to be up for the challenge right now.

She was about to do as he wished when a howl rent the night air. At first she thought it had come from Worf, that she had inadvertently done something to induce great pain. But then another sound echoed about the garden again. It was coming from the house.

"No!" Worf groaned, suddenly suspecting what the source of the noise could be.

She sensed his suspicions. "What? What have you done?"

"Homm." He roughly shoved her aside.

Even as he moved, a great racket was heard, reverberating about them. It was a crashing sound that lasted for several seconds.

"Oh, no!" Deanna moaned, suddenly recognizing what this sound must be. There was only one thing in her mother's house that could make such a shattering din - her mother's prized crystal pyramid.

And at the top of this pyramid, a commanding structure in the center of her mother's main salon, an edifice with many open display shelves like an étagère; full of light and sparkling refractions, rested the casque that contained the Holy Chalice of Rixx, one of her mother's most prized possession - even if it was only a moldy old clay pot.

Pulling up his pants, Worf ran to the house.

Deanna followed him, grabbing and pulling over her head his duty tunic. She hadn't wanted to waste the time searching in the dark for the clasp to hold up the bodice of her dress.  
They found Homm in the main room. Mr. Homm was on the floor sprawled by the still-teetering base to what was left of the eight-foot-tall crystal pyramid. There were crystal shards everywhere.

Worf walked by the remnants and realized that the structure had been built like one of those card houses that Data liked to create. But this one was made with crystal tiles instead of cards. The floor crunched as he knelt by Homm and checked for life signs. He then double-checked before he turned his head to speak to Deanna.

She knew before he even said anything. For she'd seen the fifteen-liter container that Worf had brought for Mr. Homm. It was empty, sitting in the corner of the room.

"Drunk," Deanna stated, appalled by what this meant. And what her mother would do.

Worf returned his attention to Mr. Homm. "I'm not sure. He appears to be sleeping - he is not unconscious."

Deanna carefully stepped over to the pyramid checking to see if she could find the casque that held the chalice. She located the purple and gold agate carved box under a marble carved   
corner table. Opening it up, she touched the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, now broken into five distinct shards.

"Oh, no…" she moaned, realizing what awaited her when her mother came home.

Worf stood and came to her to peer down into the box, fingering a shard.

"Glue?" he suggested.

"That's not funny Worf!" Anger colored her voice as she strove to control her temper and her nerves.

"I was not joking," Worf protested.

Mr. Homm moaned.

"Help him," Deanna ordered.

"To do what?" Mr. Worf was all innocence.

Deanna growled through her teeth.

Worf guessed. "His room? Where is it?" He picked Mr. Homm up and flung him over his shoulder. If Mr. Homm were conscious, he would have been able to nip Klingon ankles.

Deanna pointed. "Down that corridor, fourth door to the right. And Worf?"

"Yes, Deanna?"

"Throw him in it! I don't care if he bounces on the floor!"

A few moments later Worf returned, staring at Deanna who was holding several of the crystal pieces. She had straightened out her dress. Worf was disappointed.

"We could replicate the broken pieces. I know I've got several holograms of this thing. We could reconstruct it so that my mother would never know that it crashed."

"I wish Geordi or Data were here," Worf commented as he considered the task Deanna was proposing. "They could fix this."

"Wishing won't solve our problem, Worf," Deanna replied as she put down the crystal pieces and handed him his duty shirt.

Worf was disheartened that she now wanted him to dress. Stoically, he put on his shirt. Without realizing it, he glanced down the hallway that led to the stairs to her room.

Deanna still noticed. "Goodnight, Worf."

He was somewhat surprised. He had always assumed that human females liked to talk after lovemaking. Perhaps Deanna did not.

"Deanna." He strode toward the main foyer. "When will I see you again?" he stiffly asked, unsure of what Deanna really wanted him to do.

Deanna shook her head as if to shake away the waves of desire he was still projecting. "I'm sorry, Worf. Not now. Just go. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Then, goodnight, Deanna." Worf left.

Wishing with all her heart that Beverly or Guinan were nearby, for she felt like she desperately needed some feminine counsel for a change, Deanna walked slowly toward her room.

Two hours later, Worf was drenched in sweat. So much so that he was leaving a trail of wet footprints along the embassy hallway as he returned to his quarters from the Holodeck. He didn't care. It wasn't his fault that these Holodecks didn't have proper locker room facilities like the Holodecks on board the Enterprise had. Besides, the sexual frustrations he felt over leaving 

Deanna had been particularly difficult to dismiss this evening.

The door to his quarters swished open. He was instantly on the alert for something was different. There was a foreign scent in the air. And then he saw her.

She waited until he was standing directly in front of her before she got up off of his plush royal blue velvet sofa, swaying with slow, graceful movements. She was wearing a soft blue long gown with a very interesting low bodice. The flowing silk chiffon was quite stunning. Then she draped her arms over his shoulders, her long sleeves trailing over the front of his sweaty chest.   
She didn't mind.

The moment Worf saw her in it, she knew that the dress had fulfilled its purpose. She could sense that the frustrations he'd been battling since he left her earlier in the evening, were finally going to be resolved.

"I broke in," Deanna explained.

He didn't have to say how glad he was that she had. She knew it. Her attempt at seduction was working.

"I was unaware of your prowess in breaking and entering," Worf casually stated, not adding that he was pleased to be learning of her prowess in other areas.

"Beverly taught me. Amazing the confidence that three solid silver pips on your collar can do for you. Though you might want to review the security procedures for your staff. The marine on duty didn't check to see if I was an active Starfleet officer."

Worf eyed her décolletage. "Did you smile at him?"

"Why, yes." She felt inclined to bat her eyelashes at him, repeating the conduct she'd used earlier to talk the guard into letting her into Worf's quarters.

"Then I understand why he made his mistake. I will discipline him - but I will not put him on report."

"In your rather roundabout way, are you paying me a compliment, Worf?"

"You have turned many a man's head with your smile, Deanna…"

She pretended to pout. "But never yours?"

"Only a fool would be bewitched by only your smile."

If she hadn't been sensing what she was from him, she might have been insulted.

"I see. You're no fool."

"It is what is in your heart, Deanna, that holds me spellbound." He kissed her softly. "But I thought that you were tired. Why are you here?"

If her dress was not a clue, she would tell him. "Somehow, when I am around you, Worf, I feel rejuvenated. And I can think more clearly when I am away from my mother's house." She   
pressed a light kiss against his cheek. "Forgive me for sending you away?"

"Of course. I did not mind."

She knew he lied, but he was doing it for her sake. "Forgive me?"

"Is there something else?"

She looked up at him, relaxing against him, resting her chin against his heart. "For letting my problems with my mother come between us."

"She will undoubtedly cause more trouble in the future."

"And then some," Deanna darkly agreed.

"I will handle her."

Deanna indelicately snorted. "Many men have tried. They didn't exactly have a very high success rate."

"Captain Picard did."

"He ran faster than most."

Worf looked down at himself and then studied Deanna. He kissed her hard, with a passion that was barely contained. "We will discuss your mother, later." He kissed her again. "I must shower," he gruffly stated.

Deanna could only agree with that statement. She stepped away and then removed her gown. "Shall I scrub your back?"

He froze, absorbed by the sight of her naked body. She was beautiful. She stole his breath away. And when he got it back he answered her question. "Yes."

There were some advantages to having quarters located inside the Federation Embassy. Ambassadors and their personnel had amenities that would not ordinarily be considered acceptable for Klingons. Not that Worf cared for all of this comfort. But he remembered Deanna's fondness of luxurious bathing chambers from what he'd seen of her rooms on board the Enterprise. And his quarters in the Embassy had spectacular bathing facilities.

"Worf."

The way she said his name thrilled him…

"Yes, Deanna?"

"Let me tell you about this Betazed woman and how she really feels about your sweat…"

He grinned when he understood what some Betazed women liked to do. This remarkable woman truly understood how to make a man feel like a warrior. She started to undo all the buckles that held his exercise battle armor together, in order to demonstrate.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

She sat there, stirring for the hundredth time the sugar in her Berengarian root tea. It had dissolved almost half an hour ago, as the liquid had cooled. But she hadn't noticed then and she didn't notice now. All she noted was the sound of her spoon clicking against the pottery sides of her mug.

On the carved oak fireplace mantel, a 19th century Scottish skeleton clock by Robert Wilkie ticked away. It hadn't kept accurate time in centuries. Her grandmother hadn't cared. Neither did Beverly.

The only thing that she was noticing this night, after sixteen long days of double shifts in her sick bay on the Starbase, was that she was tired to her very bones. And that the emptiness of this house was overwhelming. Now, all she had, all that she could hear, were the angry words they had spoken to each other before he had left. Those words still reverberated as ghostly   
echoes about the room.

She hadn't told Jean-Luc goodbye.

When Jack had died, she had been a helpless participant in that tragedy. But now, when it came to Jean-Luc Picard, she could make choices. And those choices had left her alone in the dark. She missed him.

Beverly reached a decision. Walking over to the work area that Jean-Luc had created, she turned on the terminal and brought up his itinerary. When she figured out where he probably was, and then where he would be, she started sending off sub-space messages.

Beverly wanted him to reach the Gaudete dig knowing that she truly did wish him well. And that she wanted him back as soon as he could return.

She also checked her schedule, wondering if she could take a short leave of her own. She'd never been on an archaeological dig before. She considered surprising him on Gaudete II. As an active Starfleet commander she could arrange faster passage than Jean-Luc had done. She didn't want his romantic recollections of such digs to be the one he had shared with Vash.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Geordi sat on the ledge of a star portal in his quarters on board the Federation cruise ship, The Princess Leia, the Rigellian sister ship to the cruise ship The Princess Ardella.   
His nose was pressed up against the clear aluminum as he watched the stars go by. He knew that there were many emotions from guilt to regret that he should be feeling at this moment. But the only emotion he felt at the moment was happiness - sheer pure happiness.

For Dr. Leah Brahms was sitting next to him, resting her head on his shoulder as she watched the stars go by, too.

Finally, she moved, just a little bit, to try and keep her arm from totally falling asleep. "You really didn't know I was divorced when you accepted my offer to come to Utopia Planetia?"

"Hadn't even thought to ask," he truthfully admitted.

Leah Brahms was quickly beginning to understand that Geordi's innate honesty was an immutable part of his psyche. She was just going to have to get used to it.

"I never really met a chief engineer before who didn't like to gossip." She tucked her legs up underneath her and leaned back even more against his chest. She was quite comfortable. And she had the ready feeling that for the first time in a long time, Geordi was truly at ease too. "Am I to infer from your lack of inquiry that you weren't interested?" Her voice was warm, full of laughter, signifying her pleasure at being in his company. And in his arms.

Geordi pinched her ribs.

"Ouch." She elbowed him in retaliation.

He laughed, but it sounded nervous, even to him. "I was afraid to ask. I didn't think I could handle the disappointment if I found out that you were still happily married."

She turned around and delicately traced a finger down his profile, ending with an affectionate tap on the tip of his nose. "What aren't you saying, Geordi?"

Geordi didn't really want to speak because he was afraid that if he did, it would alter the mood of their little star gazing. But she was awaiting his answer. “I don't know if I should really tell you this, Leah."

She moved again, the silk of her deep sapphire caftan slid across his chest. "Tell me, Geordi." She kissed him lightly. "Tell me everything."

"You were so hungry when we were working to free the Enterprise from Junior."

She didn't understand. He could sense it by her body language.

"Hungry? For what? Fungilli?"

"For someone to talk to. You could talk to me. I, uh, got the feeling that I was the first person you could freely talk to, for the first time in a long time. I think I'm the only one who even could understand what you wanted to talk about."

Leah slowly let out a breath, thinking over what he was saying. "Well, I must admit that one of the reasons why I divorced my husband was because we had a lack of communication between us. He never really accepted my work or my love for it."

"Yeah, it's like a fire in our blood. I know I could talk for days about the mathematical perfection of the Dilithium crystals alone."

"Geordi," Leah laughed.

"What?"

"You have - talked for days that is. And since I've been sharing this cabin with you, I have been fascinated by your every word."

He turned to her and suddenly she was in his arms, facing him. "And are you complaining, my dear Dr. Brahms?"

She kissed him again. This time lingering long enough to stroke her tongue across his lips, till he was ready to kiss her back. "No. As a matter of fact, I've enjoyed every word - when I wasn't disagreeing with some of your more cockamamie theories, that is."

He opened his mouth to protest the disparagement of his theories when she took advantage of him and started to kiss him with rising passion. It was a successful tactic.

They'd be arriving at Betazed in a few days. Leah had no intention of leaving this cabin before then - or letting Geordi out of her sight - or her bed.

As Geordi was putting to rest some of his own personal demons with the help of Leah, Reginald Barclay was exploring the comforts of this passenger ship. Other than Geordi, he was the only senior Starfleet officer on board the ship - a ship filled with all sort of travelers and university students on their way to study at Betazed. For the first time in a long time, he found himself telling tales ala Riker in the ship's lounges - and to an attentive audience. The ladies especially liked his version of the story about his almost becoming a god. Somehow, from the depths of his memories, he was able to more-than-adequately recreate his performance of Cyrano's speeches. And several pretty ladies were willing to play the part of Roxanne. Barclay was gaining experience, and he liked every minute of it. He barely stuttered.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

William Thomas Riker bid his staff good night. His staff consisted of a pretty blond yeoman who must have been all of nineteen, and an interesting looking ensign of mixed humanoid parentage. Both ladies were duly impressed with their superior officer, though the yeoman had been the first to consider Riker's smile dreamy.

Riker sighed when they left. They were good support staff but they were not quite the caliber of what he'd been used to on board the Enterprise.

He liked it here on the Starfleet Graduate flight range. Oh, it wasn't equal to the Enterprise. Nothing could replace that experience. But he was enjoying being a commandant. He liked the students. He'd taken to teaching with the same skill and enthusiasm as he did almost everything else.

And he liked flying one-on-one. He'd forgotten how much fun flying by the seat of your pants with only the stars to steer by could be. He was reliving the old days when he'd been a Nova Squadron cadet. He now understood why Jean-Luc had taken over the hot seat on occasion. A man needed to be reminded of his first love, now and then.

And then he thought of Deanna. It was funny how Deanna kept popping up in his thoughts so often, now. He supposed that absence did make the heart grow fonder. Yet, when he'd left   
Deanna behind to join the USS Potemkin, he rarely had thoughts or impressions of her during the ensuing years.

He knew that he still had a tenuous link with his Imzadi. Now, though the feelings were unfocused, he somehow knew that Deanna was both excited and happy. The noble man inhabiting his soul truly hoped that it was Worf who was the cause of such emotions.

Sighing one more time, he shoved away from his desk and went to the port to look out onto the elaborate docking structure that was located on his side of the space station. He needed to get out of here and go do something wild and daring. Unfortunately, being around cadets not quite half his age was causing the juvenile delinquent in his soul to emerge. He liked feeling like this as he considered his options.

The screen buzzed on. Answering the summons, he was surprised to see the face of Reginald Barclay.

"Reg! Good to see you, Lieutenant Commander."

"Good to see you too, Co…" Reg suddenly stopped speaking as he counted the pips on Riker's collar. "Captain. When did that happen? How?"

"Believe it or not, it was Admiral Nechayev's parting gift to me after the wake." Riker's grin was huge. "Thanks for the vids, Reg. I hadn't realized that blackmailing admirals could be so rewarding."

"Uh, Captain, you'd better watch what you're saying. This is an open line."

"Understood. And make it Will, Reg. We've been through too much together for you to stand on protocol off duty." Riker leaned back against his desk chair. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Geordi, that is Geordi and Leah…"

"Who's Leah?"

"Dr. Brahms."

Will sucked in a deep breath. "You do mean the Dr. Brahms who designs warp engines, don't you? She's Geordi's Leah?"

"Yes."

Will chuckled. "I always knew he had it in him. Years of my tutelage, I guess."

"Actually, Will, I think that Geordi is probably following Mr. Worf's advice."

Will was about to ask how a Klingon could give romantic advice when he remembered Deanna. Maybe Worf knew more than Riker had ever suspected.

"Reg, what are you really trying to say?"

"We're on our way to Betazed. We'll be at G-6 tomorrow night. Can we take you out to dinner, Will?"

Will laughingly agreed. "Tell you what, Reg." He glanced over to the side of the screen and saw where the transmission was coming from. "Leave the Princess when you get here and I'll personally see about your transportation to Betazed. Why are you going there, anyway?"

"I think I'd better let Geordi tell you, Will. It's really his business. I'm just along for the shore leave. See you tomorrow, Will. Barclay out."

Riker considered all that Reg had said. Something was bothering the man and it concerned Geordi. Well, he'd learn the details on the morrow.

The next day, Will was in a great mood. He dismissed his students early, letting them take a long weekend. For that was precisely what Riker intended to do himself.  
Will was looking forward to seeing Reg and Geordi. He hadn't realized how much he missed the amity that he'd shared on board the Enterprise with his fellow officers. Not that he wasn't forming friendships here on the station, but it was different. He was different. He hadn't realized until experiencing it himself, what a barrier four pips could be even when one simply wanted to get a beer. Eyes watched your every move wherever you went.

It was a fact that the highest rank most Starfleet officers ever achieved was Lieutenant, Senior Grade. Few were promoted beyond that rank. Before he'd been promoted, Will Riker, on occasion, had been just one of the gang, able to do what he liked off duty, with few to remark about his behavior other than Deanna. Now, he had achieved a rarefied status that would automatically set him apart from the majority of Starfleet personnel for the rest of his life. People would notice what he did. Those days of convivial anonymity would never happen again.

Will was beginning to understand why captains associated more with admirals than they did with lieutenants. He was losing that which he'd once had in common with those who lived in the lower decks of a starship. Will now comprehended some of the reasons behind why Jean-Luc Picard had been the kind of captain that he was. Will only hoped that he would be able to behave in the future with the dignity, wisdom and honor that had been the hallmark of Captain Picard's career.

At 1400 hours, Will paced about Docking Bay 6's waiting lounge. It was a tastefully decorated room with undulating patterns of blue, grey and green. Riker supposed that the colors were meant to have a soothing, calming effect. He didn't think that it was working - at least not with him. Will held a bouquet of ivory and pink Modean flowers, toying with them as he waited for the passenger ship to disembark. Will had never cared for waiting for starships to arrive. He'd always preferred to be the one going somewhere, and not be the one waiting to greet a traveler.

Will was surprised by how excited he felt to see his friends when they approached him from a connecting tube walkway. Will greeted Geordi and Reg with equal enthusiasm, shaking their hands, pounding them on the back. Then, he remembered Leah Brahms which was not that difficult since she was still holding on to Geordi.

Will slightly bowed and handed her the flowers with a flourish. "Welcome to G-6, Dr. Brahms." Leah looked at the flowers, slightly surprised by the captain's gesture. "Thank you, Captain Riker. These flowers are lovely."

"Their only purpose is to compliment a lovely lady. It is a pleasure to see you again, Dr. Brahms." He gave her his best attentive smile. "I hope these two gentlemen have been behaving themselves around you."

She deadpanned, "You trained them too well, Captain." After the impact of his smile hit her, she now understood Riker's reputation. It wasn't exaggerated.

"I always aim to please a lady, but I insist that you call me Will. I only want to be captained by these guys"

"As you wish, Will." She turned to Geordi. "Perhaps I should see about our room."

Will answered before Geordi could. "I've already done that. Now, let me tell you what I've arranged," he enthusiastically explained. "I've got the dinner all planned, plus a tour of the station, and if you're so inclined, I'll let you fly some of my skeeter ships - they are the fastest in Starfleet - Geordi and Reg."

Reg spoke up. "Captain, that is Will, I thought that we'd take you out to dinner."

"Nonsense. When I can cook?" Will flashed his trademark smile again in Leah's direction. "I'm a great cook, Dr. Brahms. I insist upon cooking for all of you in my quarters."

Geordi groaned as he remembered other cabin-cooked dinners, but he genuinely couldn't think of a reasonable reason to decline.

After arranging for their luggage to be deposited in their quarters, as well as privately noting that Leah and Geordi had requested shared quarters, Will proceeded to show them about the starbase. They decided to postpone the flight school demonstration until a later time.

Hours later, after a dinner of tandoori chicken that actually turned out to be surprisingly good, Geordi, Reg and Will settled down to talk. Leah had excused herself, pleading fatigue. Will appreciated Leah's tact, and vowed to get to know her better. Clearly she was playing a major role in Geordi's life. He remembered what Jean-Luc had told them when he revealed Q's possible future. He had a feeling that Geordi was trying to fulfill Jean-Luc's words too.

As the three of them sat down on the black sofas in Will's grey, white and teak living room, Will offered Reg and Geordi some real Romulan ale. Both men declined. From the looks that Geordi and Reg exchanged, Will had a feeling that he was going to discover what had really been going on in his friend's lives.

"All right, gentlemen. Why'd you come?"

Hours later, Will agreed to go with them to Betazed. Will arranged for their travel on board his personal runabout, the John Steed. 

The fact that this gave Will a great excuse to see how Deanna was doing without being too nosy or obvious was beside the point.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Carrie DelaChancie sat quietly in the corner of her gilded music salon and listened. Glorious music flowed around her as through half-closed eyes she observed her great-niece and the most delightful though odd of creatures, Mr. Data, perform. Mr. Data had composed a duet for piano and violin which was a suite of folk dances based upon an interesting juxtaposition of both Bajoran and Celtic melodies. Besides the composing, Data had also done the arranging.

"Mr. Data, that was marvelous. I trust that your professor of composition gave you the highest of grades for your work."

"Actually, he did not. I find myself confused about getting a forty-second percent grade."

Carrie and Nella were surprised at this pronouncement. "Data? You must stand up for yourself. Don't let those rigid, prejudiced academic types push you around. You're a gifted musician and composer, and you should let those stuffed pequods know it!"

Data automatically absorbed and analyzed Nella's words and attitudes, as he catalogued the outfit that she was wearing, comparing her grey and Wedgwood blue dress with her other choices   
of clothing. He was trying to understand why females chose what they did when they were not wearing their uniforms. Nella was an excellent subject for such a study.

Besides, Data liked Nella. She talked to him as if he were a real being with valid emotions. Ever since the crash of the Enterprise D, few people other than his former crewmates, ever spoke like that to him. Nella was one of the exceptions. Carrie was another.

He then realized that he had failed to answer Nella's question within an acceptable period of time. "I am sorry. I was ruminating."

"About what, Data?"

Data looked at her and considered the probability that she was even more quantifiably beautiful tonight than she had been the last time he had seen her two days ago. He ran a comparison just to confirm his supposition. Then he answered Nella's question.

"I cannot precisely answer your question, Nella. I normally process several thousand bits of information per second. However, uppermost in my thoughts is my lack of acceptance by the teachers and my fellow students at the university."

Carrie spoke out. "How can they not accept you, Mr. Data? You are an original."

"I am an android, madam, with pretensions toward emotionalism. Unfortunately, neither my skill, my mental agility, or my emotions chip guarantees the existence of any music compositional aptitude on my part."

"Nonsense. I've been a patron of the arts for decades. I know great music when I hear it. And you are a great composer, Mr. Data. Your professors are fools. That's what they really are." For a moment, she trailed her fingers down Data's French Sartory bow which he'd also purchased at the auction. "I would have never let you buy this violin if I were not convinced of your extraordinary talents."

The Data that had been before the emotions chip would have made several statements about the qualifications and reputations of his professors. But this new Data just simply said, "Thank you. I value your friendship."

And then he smiled, for a brief moment appreciating the sentiments and beliefs of Carrie and Nella.

Carrie reached over and patted Data's arm. He noticed the flash of her sapphire ring, the lavender lace of her sleeve as he contrasted it against the deep blue fabric of his shirt. His sense of artistry program kicked in. He analogized the color combinations to the décor of the room, noting how well what they were all wearing blended in with a room full of 18th century French Aubusson panels and silk Chinese Oriental rugs hand-woven in subtle pastels.

Then Data exchanged a smile with Nella. Carrie noticed, interrupting them with, "Would you play some more for me, Data? I think that you are possibly the finest violinist who has ever played the Benny violin.

Data nodded and took a step backwards, until he was standing next to the Bechstein concert grand piano. "Do you wish to accompany me, Nella?"

"No, Data. I feel lazy right now. I would rather listen."

Over an hour later after performing Bach, Bruch, Bizet and Baghor of Benzar, Data walked over to the two ladies and stood before them, slightly nodding his head in acknowledgement of   
their applause. "Ladies, may I escort you in to dinner?" Data didn't need to eat, but he was beginning to learn that there was more to the simple act of eating beyond the taking of nourishment.

"Of course, Data." Nella took his left arm. Carrie took the right.

Data analyzed all of the data input and concluded that he enjoyed dining with these two ladies. He aesthetically liked the harmony and contrasts of design that was Carrie's home. He found Carrie's treasures from the collections of fine and unusual silver to Flora Danica by Royal Copenhagen to the primitive pottery of many worlds to her library of rare musical recordings from many of Earth's eras, to be appealing. And intriguing. And worth further analysis.

He also savored Carrie's choice of menu. She seemed determined to give Data an education in various types of cuisine, far beyond what he had experienced on board the Enterprise.  
Nella served the coffee. Data watched her observing the way the colored panels of her dress moved about her hips. Data deduced that the dress was designed to do this - call attention to specific parts of the feminine form.

He didn't notice Carrie observing him, watching them both. She was reaching some conclusions of her own. And to her dismay, Nella was only making things worse.  
"Data, have you ever heard a real live Gaelic band?" Nella offered a plate of small cakes.

"I have listened and studied Gaelic music to some extent. Dr. Crusher and Chief Miles O'Brien have been excellent sources of material. And when I visited Dr. Crusher on Caldos, I was exposed to settlers of Scottish descent …"

Nella interrupted him, having learned that one had to do this now and then with Data. "Data, would you like to hear an Irish band or not?"

Dated regrouped his thought processes. "Yes, Nella. I would."

"Then come with me tonight. I know this great pub, near the aquarium."

Data looked at her dress and then down at his clothes. "Should I change my attire?"

"You are fine just the way you are. Wait for me while I go put on my dancing shoes."

Data automatically stood when Nella left the table. Then he sat down and looked at Carrie. She seemed to want to say something to him.

"Data, you know my niece's leave from Starfleet is almost over. She's scheduled to join a ship going to look at some nebula somewhere in less than two weeks."

Data nodded. "Yes, Nella told me about the Alawanir Nebula survey. On board the Enterprise we did a preliminary scan of it two years ago. It intersects near Cardassian, Klingon and Neutral Zone borders."

"Whatever. Data, please try to understand what I am trying to say to you. I like you."

Data considered her words. "I like you too."

Carrie tried to find the words to explain her fears to Data. "Nella likes you too, Data."

"Do you really think so?"

The naïve enthusiasm of his question touched Carrie's heart even as it added to her sense of apprehension.

"She considers you to be a dear friend."

"I consider her to be a dear friend, too."

Carrie feared that she wasn't making any progress with Data. She was going to have to be blunter.

Nella entered the room. "Ready, Data?"

Carried muffled a curse at Nella's timing as she watched Data join her great-niece. He clearly was distracted by Nella's presence.

Nella came over and kissed Carrie's cheek. Data considered Nella's actions and copied her gesture. "Do not wait up," he commented as he bent over the lady. It seemed to be the correct thing to say under the circumstances. "We may be late."

Carried wished them goodnight. She was afraid, as she watched them go, that one of them was going to be hurt. And that someone wasn't going to be her niece. What would even make matters worse, Carrie suspected, was the guilt that her niece would feel when she realized what she had unwittingly done to Mr. Data. Nella had spent too much of her life studying her music with her eyes focused on the stars. She too often didn't consider the consequences of her actions until it was too late.

Meanwhile Data was enjoying himself. They were at the What Ales Ye Pub and grille. A portion of Data's brain did an analytical survey of cute bar names over the centuries and concluded that such names were a lasting human trait. He collected a list of such word play names that used the word ale, to tell Nella when the music ended.

Data looked about the main room of the pub, absorbing the atmosphere from the walls hung with ancient street signs from Irish cities, to posters of famous Irish personages such as the Kennedys throughout the centuries to even a boxer named The Kilkenny Kid.

Then he directed his attention to the glass tankard of stout sitting before him on the small café table that he was sharing with Nella. He had taken a sip of the stout and had analyzed it. He compared it to Romulan ale which he'd tasted at the wake, noting that the stout had more sucrose, but that the Romulan ale had a much higher alcoholic content.

Data then focused on the musicians in the band. They were quite different from the groups that had formed and played on board the Enterprise. For one thing, at least one of the performers who was the fiddle player, was a fellow graduate student musician from Harvard. His name was Michael Finnegan O'Leary. And the only reason O'Leary had even established a nodding acquaintance with Data was because O'Leary's great-grandfather had once served under Captain James Tiberius Kirk.

After the musicians finished their first set, Michael came over to Data's table. Not that O'Leary was greatly interested in having a conversation with Data. But when a machine could come to a pub escorting one of the more striking women on the planet, O'Leary was more than a little curious.

Data stood, making the formal introductions of Nella to this slightly puckish, thirtyish musician. Unfortunately, Data was much taller than O'Leary which was a fact that O'Leary did not appreciate. Matters were also not helped by the fact that Data had considerably more hair on his head than O'Leary did. Never mind that the hair had been created. It was just more item on a list that O'Leary held against Mr. Data.

Michael dragged a chair over from another table and straddled it, concentrating only on Nella Daren. He directed his polished line of pick-up dialogue toward the lady, finding it impossible to consider that the woman could be associated with Data in any way other than as the most casual of acquaintances.

It took Data seventy-nine seconds to conclude that O'Leary was being rude toward him. Nella determined this somewhat more quickly, and swiftly dealt with the man with her acid tongue and scathing blunt comments that she had previously directed toward incompetent underlings.

Data observed her behavior with interest, watching O'Leary leave. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Send Mr. O'Leary away?"

Nella brushed off some invisible crumbs from her sleeve, ate the last bite of her pretzel, took a drink from her stein and waved two fingers in the direction of their bar maid. Then she answered Data's question. "O'Leary doesn't like you. He made it obvious, and I consider that to be rude."

"It is one of the hazards of being an android, Nella."

Eyes blazing with righteous indignation, Nella said, "Well, I don't like it one bit, Data. I don't think that you should tolerate such behavior. If you don't stand up for yourself, who will?"

Data looked upon Nella, capturing in his memory everything about her from the anger in her voice over her perceived mistreatments of him, to the back-lit halo about her almost-auburn hair, glowing with fired gold highlights about her gracefully sloping blue clad shoulders. He measured this image of her to previous ones in his memory. He remembered the time he had encountered Nella walking with Jean-Luc in a corridor by the arboretum on board the Enterprise. Her hair had been slightly mussed with her hand almost touching the captain's fingers. He knew now that they had probably been kissing when the corridor had been empty from the presence of others. He judged that she was at her loveliest now, though.

Data accessed the program he had labeled Riker 9, then altered his voice slightly to match the vocal rhythmic inflections and pitch that Riker used when he was in the company of a beautiful woman. "I consider myself most fortunate to have such a lovely defender of my honor."

"It's not your honor, Data, it's your dignity. That O'Leary fellow seemed to think that he could say whatever he wished and that you would do nothing about it."

"Nella, they were only words. If he had acted, it would have been another matter."

She shook her head. "I don't understand you at all, Data. What makes you tick?"

"Dr. Soong gave me a naturalistic human functioning internal system. I really do have a heart, albeit it has a multiple special lithium based power source."

Nella laughed, amused by Data's literal answer to her question. She had momentarily forgotten his nature. "Data, I really should have learned how to talk around you by now. Let me rephrase my question. What I meant to say was why did you react in the way that you did?"

"A lot of humans have difficulty relating to me. They find my being an android to be unsettling, bringing a sense of disorder to their perception of intelligent life forms. It took Captain Picard thirteen days, four hours and seventeen minutes before he became comfortable in my presence."

"How did you know this, Data? Did Jean-Luc say something? Was it thirteen days cumulative in his presence, or the first consecutive thirteen days under his command?"

"There was a marked change in his physical response to my presence." Data thought for a moment. "You would say that Captain Picard relaxed on the thirteenth day of my service under his command."

"If it took Jean-Luc that long to learn to welcome you…"

Data interrupted her. "Actually, Captain Picard came to accept me rather quickly in comparison to other Starfleet officers with whom I have served. It was my good fortune that he set the example for all of those under his command. However, Geordi LaForge was the first to favor my position on board the Enterprise. He approved of me within the first three minutes of our meeting even though he was only a lieutenant at the time, and not considered to be a likely candidate for the circle of senior officers. I was lucky to gain his friendship. Some others, unfortunately, like Dr. Katherine Pulaski, never really could relax in my presence, though I do consider the doctor to be one of my friends."

"I'd like to think that I accept you as you are."

"Yes, I know. That is why I like being in your company, Nella. In my analysis of Terran females, I have reached the conclusion that you are a rare woman amongst them all. I understand why   
Captain Picard mated with you."

She looked at him not quite sure if she had heard what he had said accurately. She picked up her tankard and drained it, clanking it back down on the wooden table top. Then she stretched her arm across the table taking Data's stout. A thud on the table top was heard when she was finished.

"Data, I am not going to discuss my relationship with Jean-Luc Picard with you." Her voice had an edge to it, but her countenance softened as she added, "Thank you for the compliment."

Data realized that perhaps he'd been unfortunate with his selection of words. "I am sorry if I have displeased you, Nella. It was not my intention."

Nella curtly nodded, accepting his words. Standing, she looked in the direction of the band which had started playing their next set of somewhat slower and less-energetic songs.

"I think it would be a wise move if we did something else right now. Let's dance, Data." She stood and offered him her hand. "You do dance, don't you Data?"

"I have had an excellent instructress, and have had the chance to practice on several occasions, most notably at a wedding between two friends." Then he proceeded to demonstrate what he'd learned from Beverly. Nella was breathless when they returned to their table.

Some as yet unidentified human feeling had compelled Data to establish his dancing expertise with Nella. He needed time to dissect what he had done and why he had done it, to analyze the nuances of feeling that were occurring with every tick of his internal clock. He duly recorded everything knowing that during his next rest cycle, he would have much to consider and review.  
Something of his disquiet conveyed itself to Nella. "Let's get out of here, Data." She tugged his hand. He followed.

Minutes later they walked in silence, midst the geometric long shadows about the brick courtyard of Fort McHenry, a Baltimore historical treasure that had survived the centuries. Their footsteps clicked against the brick walkways. Nella's shoulders moved, as if she were reacting to a chill in the night air.

"You are cold?"

She responded to the concern in his voice, smiling at the thought of it. He was more human than he knew. "I'm fine, Data."

Data quickly reviewed the acceptable male humanoid responses to the situation. "I am sorry that I do not have a jacket to place about your shoulders. However…" He placed his arm across Nella's shoulders. "…I can adjust my body temperature, raising my heat by several degrees centigrade. If the warmth is not sufficient, please let me know. I will change it."

"You know, Data, for an android, you should teach lessons to several men I know about how to be a gentleman. A lady could not ask for a more perfect escort."

The first explosion caught Data completely by surprise. He would have reacted defensively if at almost the same moment Nella had not oooohed. He knew that such a response was not typical for a dangerous situation. A second later another explosion sounded, and a trail of brilliant colored lights crossed over the sky, reflecting against the harbor's mirror dark waters.  
Fireworks.

Data had never experienced real fireworks before. Oh, he had attended Will Riker's annual Fourth of July picnic inside the Holodeck. Even during the one and only disastrous time the crew had tried to honor Jean-Luc Picard's Bastille Day celebration, Data had been on the Holodeck and had seen the fireworks. But he had never experienced real live fireworks before. His amazement and delight were plainly revealed on his face, as he stood there, with his arms about Nella's waist, watching the fireworks. The crispness of the explosions, the reverberations that one could feel as well as hear, the glow of the colors as splendid as any star he had ever seen; all were a wonder to the android.

Nella leaned into his chest, watching the fireworks through his eyes, as if it were the first time for herself as well. She suspected that the appearance of the fireworks probably had more to do with the Chamber of Commerce's desire to let tourists experience the rocket's red glare than they did with anything of mystical or historical significance. Data's innocent pleasure in this unexpected event touched her heart. Every time she was with him was a revelation for her soul.

Even as he watched the sparkles in the sky, he noticed Nella's position in his arms, the pattern to her breathing, the way her hair caught against the fibers of his shirt as she leaned her head against his shoulder. An extraordinary state of flurry came over Data; a confused rush as feelings and analytical programs collided in his positronic brain before all the in-put merged.

"Nella…"

She reacted to the way he said her name, turning slightly to look into his eyes.

Data could only behave in a manner consistent with those he respected - those he had chosen to emulate. It was a mixture of Riker, Picard, LaForge and others.

He said her name again.

Perhaps it was the unexpected overtone of emotions that reflected Jean-Luc Picard's influence over Data that affected her. Whatever. When he lowered his lips onto hers, she responded to his kiss in surprise - and pleasure - for a moment.

Then she broke out of his arms. "Oh Data, no…" She left him standing there even as the fireworks continued to flare. He stood there, still watching, even as he considered what is was that he had done wrong.

Hours later, he quietly entered Carrie DelaChancie's house, not wishing to disturb anyone. Though his actions were considerate, they weren't necessary for Nella was waiting up for him, sitting in her aunt's parlor with an untouched cup of herbal tea by her hand.

"I am relieved that you arrived home safely, Nella." He spoke politely, trying not to give in to the surprising temptation to yell at her. For the first time, he understood some of the emotional   
forces behind the feelings as to why humans yelled at each other.

"Data, we have to talk." She motioned toward the Chippendale armchair that flanked her own by the fireplace. "I am still active Starfleet, Data. I used my communicator to arrange for immediate transport when I left."

"Why did you leave me? Did my kiss offend you?"

"No. That is, it's not what you think."

"I do not understand, Nella. I thought that you cared for my company."

"I haven't had a serious relationship since I left the Enterprise, Data. I wasn't ready, or expecting another romantic relationship." She spoke rapidly, almost as if she had rehearsed this response.

He supposed that it was a logical enough explanation. If he'd been an ordinary mortal, he would have believed her. But, the way she was speaking, her responses that he was scanning, told him otherwise. She was lying about the real reason as to why she had left him. Her emotions about Jean-Luc Picard aside, she was not telling him everything.

"Nella, once I asked every man that I respected what it was that women want. I thought that by doing a scientific survey of the question, I would find the answer. Unfortunately, I entered a relationship with Jenna d'Sorra which proved to be an unwise decision. Since I have acquired my emotions chip, I have come to the conclusion that the only way I will ever learn the answer to my question is if I do the research myself, and not rely on the experience of others." He leaned over and clasped her hand, noting her initial reluctance to let him touch her. "Is it because I am an android that you find me distasteful as a possible lover?"

"Data, I never once considered you in that light, before." She spoke the truth. She did not like to feel this confusion that was filling her mind. "Up until a few hours ago, I thought that we were friends."

"We are."

"Just friends."

Data stopped, considering her words, reviewing the situation. "I do not see how I could have misinterpreted your actions."

"You did not misinterpret them, Data. You just misunderstood them."

"I do not understand."

"Data, I never thought of you - in a romantic way, that is. I am sorry that I did not recognize how masculine your programming really is."

"Nella, my desire to kiss you was not part of a pre-planned programming. It arose from the natural progression of our actions."

"What?"

Data smiled. "I have learned Nella, that even I can make mistakes. And that when I do, I am learning how to be more human."

"Data, I can only say that I am sorry."

"Then you harbor no feelings for me beyond friendship?"

"No, Data." She regretted having to say the words. She waited for some sort of recrimination on his part for her thoughtless behavior. Instead, he stood.

"Then, I shall remain your friend."

She couldn't help the relief she felt at his words.

He continued. "That is, if you still wish to continue our friendship?"

"Data, I wouldn't want anything to ruin our wonderful friendship."

He thought for a moment, wondering what would be the fitting thing to say at such a time as this. And then he knew, for he was truly learning how to be a human; his acquisition of knowledge and experience was maturing.

"Nella - our kiss?"

"Yes, Data?" She was unsure of what would come next.

"It never happened."

Hours later in his room, a lovely blue and white Queen Ann style guest room, Data sat on a rocker waiting for the sun to rise. Since Spot preferred to keep her tail intact and away from the rocker's panels, she chose to sleep in contented shedding safety on Data's lap.

There was a slight tapping on his door.

"Come in," he quietly called out, unsure of who would be about in the minutes before dawn.

Carrie entered the room, carrying a tray.

Data detected the scent of Irish Breakfast tea. He looked up at the woman in her long crimson velvet robe, with her silver to gold hair curling about her neck and shoulders. He thought, for a second, that Nella's hair would look like that when she grew old.

And then he knew one of the major reasons as to why Nella had not seen him as a suitable mate - and only saw him as an android. She would grow old. He would not.

"Do you wish to talk, Mr. Data?" Concern shaded her words. "Nella came to see me when she came home last night. She had told me that you had kissed her."

"I upset Nella. That was not my intention."

"I know, Mr. Data." Carrie put down the tray down on a tea table, and then sat on antique rosewood parlor chair.

"Tea? A scone?"

"I understand how certain humans value the restorative properties of tea. But for me, it is not necessary. I do not need to eat."

"You ate dinner last night, though I noticed that you avoided the soft shelled crabs."

"I find that I have vegetarian preferences, Carrie." He accepted the proffered cup of tea, though. "Why are you here?" He thought for a moment. "Do you wish for me to leave?"

"Mr. Data, you will always be a welcome guest in my home, with or without the presence of my great-niece."

"Thank you, Carrie. I accept. I appreciate your kindness toward me, though I must admit that I am confused as to the why of it. I do not know what it is that I have done that warrants you consideration."

"Dear Mr. Data, don't you know that you are one of the nicest persons that I have ever met? You have so much talent as a musician too." She could see that he was beginning to formulate all sorts of possibilities as to why she was being kind. "Data, hasn't anyone ever been kind to you before, just for the sake of being kind?"

"Only my frie…" He suddenly understood Carrie's point. He smiled. "Thank you, Carrie."

She reached over and patted his arm, whispering, "I'm sorry that I didn't realize how you felt about Nella until it was too late. I could have guided you. It was my error."

With a wisdom that perhaps he really did not know that he had, he picked up Carrie's hand, lightly kissed her knuckles in the manner that he had seen Captain Picard do on occasion, and then responded, "There was no error, Carrie, except my own."

"To err is human…"

"Yes, Carrie, to be human. It seems I am getting closer to my goal."

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Deanna rolled over and stretched in a manner indicating a great deal of self-satisfaction. She didn't want to wake up. She liked it here in Worf's extra-large bed, even if he was missing at the moment. She wasn't surprised that he was not in bed. Even though they'd made love until the early morning hours, Worf still showed up for duty on time. His only concession to Deanna's presence in his bed was to give up his pre-dawn battle exercises in favor of another sort of passionate exercise.

The past few days had been more than incredible, from Deanna's point of view. She was beginning to learn all about her Klingon lover. He was the right choice for her life.

After checking the time with the computer, Deanna decided that she could afford to spend another hour napping. One of the advantages of not currently being on active Starfleet duty was that her time was her own, when she wasn't in class or arguing with her mother.

In what seemed like only minutes later, the chimes to Worf's quarters dinged. Deanna ignored it at first, half-convinced that the sound was part of her pleasant dream. The second time she heard them, she struggled out of bed, grabbing her pale rose robe that was part of her peignoir set. Reaching the door, she made the mistake of opening it without checking first who was behind it.

"Deanna!"

Worf's son and heir shouted her name. The boy was delighted to see her, hugging her about her waist with a childish enthusiasm that touched Deanna's heart.

"Alexander!" She warmly greeted the boy, kneeling to return his hug. "Oh, Alexander, it is so good to see you again!"

It was as she was hugging the boy that she realized that he was not alone. She should have guessed. She looked up and saw Helena and Sergey Rozhenko. Sergey seemed very pleased to see her. Helena was not smiling.

"Deanna Troi! How good it is to see you." Sergey cheerfully greeted her stepping around her to see if Worf was in the living room. "Is Worf here? We just beamed down. Oh, what a trip we have had. In my day, we would have never let a starship like the Robert Heinlein be run in that condition…"

Deanna stood, automatically straightening her robe, suddenly realizing that the semi-sheer fabric was not exactly the sort of outfit one should be wearing when one was meeting Worf's parents.

"Mr. and Mrs. Rozhenko, it is good to see you again. Did Worf know that you were coming?"

"Obviously not," Helena sniffed, walking into the living room, glancing quickly toward the rumpled bed visible in the bedroom beyond.

"Obviously not," Deanna echoed, as she turned toward Sergey. "Give me a moment to change, and then I'll go help you find him. He's probably still in the building somewhere. The Ambassador keeps him rather busy with details, in the mornings."

"It sounds like you know my son's schedule very well," Helena tartly observed. "Do you live here?"

"No, I live with my mother…" Deanna's voice trailed off when she realized that there was little that she could say that would be what Helena wanted to hear.

"Deanna, our names are Sergey and Helena. Please for you to call us by our first names. Worf would insist," Sergey boisterously stated, choosing to ignore his wife's attitude and the undercurrents between the two ladies.

"Of course, Sergey." She tried her best counselor's smile on Helena. "Helena." When that didn't work, she remembered what she was and was not wearing. "Excuse me."

Barely two minutes later Deanna rejoined them in the living room, now wearing a ruby wrap-around dress and sandals, her long hair had been hastily pulled back into a ponytail.  
"Sergey. Helena." Deanna never finished what she started to say because at this moment Worf came barreling through the doorway to his apartment.

"Mother! Father!" And then, he was tackled, half-falling to the floor with his son in his arms. "Alexander!" He hugged him, rolling to the floor with the boy several times, before he climbed to his feet, holding his son. Looking at his parents, he let his pride in being with them show for a moment. "It is good to see you. Why didn't you let us know you were coming?"

Helena immediately noted Worf's use of the plural. Her eyes narrowed.

Sergey answered the question. "We did, son." Sergey heartily clapped his hand on Worf's shoulder. "Some things never change when it comes to the efficiency of Starfleet communications. No matter. We are here now, with you. And we are going to stay for a while, if you will have us."

"Good." And Worf really meant it, in spite of their sudden complications to his life. "I will make the arrangements."

Deanna stepped forward. "Perhaps I should go see Ambassador Roper and make those preparations." She moved over next to Worf and whispered, "And you should check your messages now and then."

Worf grunted, "I will."

She stepped away from him.

"Why don't you all come over for dinner, tomorrow night?" Deanna smiled too-sweetly over at Worf. "I'd be delighted to introduce you to Betazoid hospitality."

Sergey spoke up quickly before Helena could get started. He knew his wife too well. "Of course, Counselor Troi. We would be delighted to come, eh, Helena?"

Deanna laughed as she corrected him. "Please, call me Deanna."

Helena harrumphed. "And are we going to call you something else in the future?" Though she was speaking to Deanna, she was staring specifically at her own son.

"Deanna is…" Worf looked over at Deanna, not quite sure as to what he should be revealing. He'd dealt with Cardassian ambushes that were less dangerous than answering this question. For during the three nights that they had been lovers, the actual discussion of what their relationship was and was going to be had yet to occur. He considered all of the words both human and Kling that could be used to describe lovers, but none seemed acceptable to him. "Deanna is Deanna. My Deanna."

"Father, you mean it? You really mean it?" Alexander sounded very hopeful.

"Yes." Worf silently dared Deanna to quibble with his choice of words.

Deanna silently admired how Worf had avoided this particular mine field. She put her arms about Alexander's shoulders, momentarily ignoring Sergey and Helena. She knelt in front of the excited boy, trying to understand what he was feeling. She wanted him to accept her relationship with his father. And what she was now sensing told her that he was more than happy with this change in her relationship with his father.

"Alexander, is it all right with you if I see your Father?"

"You mean, date?" Deanna nodded. Alexander Rozhenko broke into a really broad grin, but wisely refrained from mentioning how much plotting and scheming he had done on board the Enterprise in order to bring his Father and Deanna together.

Deanna relaxed. "So you don't mind us, Little One?" she teased, unconsciously using her mother's traditional nickname for loved ones, as she brushed aside some bangs on his forehead.

"If you see my Father, you may call me Little One," the boy replied, putting up with her fussing. He had learned a long time ago, that females liked to fuss over him. And that he was honor bound to put up with it when he considered them to be family.

Deanna looked over at the Rozhenkos. She was sensing amusement and pride from Sergey as well as appreciation. From Helena, the dominant emotion she was feeling was concern. The woman was only worried about what a relationship with Deanna could do to her son and her grandson. Deanna understood and sympathized.

"I'll go see about your rooms." Deanna leaned over and brushed a kiss against the top of Alexander's head, before she reached up and kissed Worf's cheek. "I'm sure that you have much to discuss. I'll see you later.' Then she caught Helena's too-knowing glance, and she knew, rather than sensed, that whatever bluff and bluster Helena might present to her son and husband,   
she warily approved of Deanna's relationship with Worf.

The next night Deanna decided that her dinner with the Rozhenkos was not such a brilliant idea after all. For her mother was back. And as the evening progressed, it was becoming very apparent that Lwaxana Troi and Helena Rozhenko were not starting out as the best of friends.

For starters, Lwaxana's close relationship with Alexander disturbed Helena. She didn't like her grandson turning to another woman for friendship or comfort when he should be going to his own grandmother for mothering.

Lwaxana noticed Helena's enmity during dinner. And ignored it. What had captured Lwaxana's interest was Mr. Worf. She had anticipated all sorts of emotions from the man now that he was her daughter's lover. After all, he had once referred to her as an admirable woman. But what she was sensing from him was unexpected. Mr. Worf clearly wanted to talk to her before the night was through. But Lwaxana had hoped that Worf would seek her out because of respect such a man owed the mother of his lover, and not just out of duty. Lwaxana sighed, supposing that she would have to learn to understand the Klingon psyche if her daughter was gong to keep company with a Klingon. When they finally reached the dessert stage which was a chocolate mousse with Deredian vanilla rum ice cream, which was considered to be one of Mr. Homm's specialties, Lwaxana sensed a shift in Mr. Worf's intentions.

"Oh, out with it, Woof," she blurted as she reached for an after-dinner drink of Saurian brandy. She drank it in one gulp then stuck out her hand in Mr. Homm's direction. Mr. Homm refilled her goblet then went around the table, filling other goblets in between the banging of the portable gong of thanksgiving that he was carrying.

"We've reached the end of the meal - and it was a delicious one too, Deanna," Helena mentioned as she drained her own goblet again. "When does the noise stop?", she asked, not wanting to appear too rude yet the constant gonging had set her nerves on edge.

"The gong of thanksgiving is not noise!" Lwaxana angrily stated. "It's a sacred tradition. Get used to it!" 

"Mother!" Deanna psychically ordered, trying to control her anger. "Helena is our guest!"

"Little One, are you implying that I do not know how to be the epitome of Betazed hospitality to our guests?" Lwaxana replied as she smiled at her guests about the round table decorated with an abundance of trailing fuzzy tilsit. She was somewhat disappointed that Helena had not overtly reacted to the friendly plant other than to pick stray branches of it out of her salad. Lwaxana hadn't realized that Helena, having raised both a human and a Klingon son with a propensity for bringing all sorts of wild life with insects into her home, had trained her well for whatever stunts Lwaxana might try to pull. On certain levels, they were two of a kind.

"Mother…" Deanna broadcast a warning.

Worf interrupted their mental argument. He stood, crossing over to Lwaxana, and relieved Mr. Homm of his mallet.

"Mrs. Troi," Worf firmly stated, putting down the mallet away from Mr. Homm and Mrs. Troi, "I must speak with you."

Lwaxana stood with her iridescent purple sleeves fluttering about her body. Privately, Worf thought that some of the massive yardage that made up Lwaxana's sleeves could have been used for the neckline of her dress which was decidedly missing some material. The last time he had seen so much of the lady's bosom was when Lwaxana had almost gotten married on board the Enterprise.

"Well, speak, Mr. Woof."

"In private," he countered, sending a quick look in Deanna's direction. He was momentarily distracted by the smile on her face, as well as the way she looked bathed in the glow of candlelight from the multitude of tapers scattered about the room. He extended his arm toward Lwaxana, escorting the lady from the table and down the hall.

Eventually he led her into the room with the crystal pyramid. If Worf had not seen with his own eyes, the structure lying in pieces on the floor only a few days earlier, he would have never suspected that it had been damaged.

"I broke this," he announced, pointing.

Lwaxana was disappointed. She had momentarily hoped that Worf's need for privacy concerned her daughter and matters of the heart, and not some mundane household subject.

"I know, Mr. Worf. Mr. Homm told me."

Worf made a mental note to discuss telling the truth with Mr. Homm in the immediate future. Worf reached up and took down the agate casque. He opened it, showing the pieces of the chalice to Lwaxana. "I broke this. Deanna has told me of its importance."

"This moldy old pot? Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Woof. I don't remember how many times I used to throw it at my first husband Ian Andrew - Deanna's father, you know - when I was angry at him. Now, there was a man who really knew how to fight," Lwaxana sighed. "And he definitely knew how to apologize to me afterwards." She raised an eyebrow, studying Worf. "That's a trait you should acquire, Woof. Even when you're right and especially when you're right."

"I do not understand," Worf muttered. Deanna's feelings over the pot had concerned him, and now Lwaxana was acting as if its breakage did not matter. He was confused. "Deanna was upset over its being broken."

Lwaxana smiled a naughty all-knowing smile. She wasn't going to embarrass Mr. Worf just yet, but she had interrogated Homm concerning the precise circumstances surrounding the breaking of the sacred chalice of Rixx. And she didn't mind the accident in the slightest.

"Don't you worry, Mr. Woof. Mr. Homm can mend this chalice the way he has fixed it in the past. He is good at that sort of thing. He just has to run it through one of those damned beaming device thingies or some such nonsense, in order to get it back together again." She turned, grasping Worf's arm as she added, "Don't humans have some sort of absurd tale about putting things back together again? Well, that is what Mr. Homm can do."

Worf made another mental note to discuss with Mr. Homm the putting of things back together again. He was upset with Mr. Homm's actions, and not because Mr. Homm had neglected to mention to this Klingon that he was capable of doing it. No, what bothered Worf was that Mr. Homm had deliberately let Deanna worry over what would happen when her mother would find out about the damage to the chalice. The unnecessary distress to his beloved, Worf would not forgive. Mr. Homm would pay. And learn the lesson of never crossing a Klingon over a matter of honor and loyalty again.

"Now, where were we, Mr. Woof - ah yes, we were discussing my lovely daughter Deanna."

"What?" Worf was finding it difficult to follow all of Lwaxana's meanderings.

Lwaxana led Worf to the terrace doors, overlooking one of her formal gardens.

"Little One…" she summoned telepathically.

A moment later, Deanna came into the room followed by the Rozhenkos and Alexander.

"Yes, Mother?" She was wary about the way her mother was acting. She could sense Worf's confusion and wasn't sure what her mother was trying to do to him.

Lwaxana placed Worf's hand on top of Deanna's arm. "It's such a lovely night. Why don't you and Mr. Woof take a stroll. I happen to know that Mr. Woof has a decided preference for my ginger orchids, don't you Mr. Woof?"

"I…" Worf was momentarily speechless, hastily looking toward Deanna for help.

"Mother, what are you doing?" Deanna demanded, forgetting for an instant that she had an audience.

"Must I be plotting something, Little One, when I just simply suggest that the two of you might enjoy a quiet evening stroll through my most beautiful flower gardens?" She stomped her foot. 

"Why are you always so suspicious of my motives?"

"Because I know you too well, Mother!"

Helena intervened. "Deanna, your mother is right. Do take a walk in the garden with Worf. It is such a nice night." She walked over to Lwaxana and placed her arm about the lady's waist.   
Smiling through gritted teeth, she added, "Besides it will give your Mother and I a chance to know each other better."

Somewhat surprised by the sudden sense of purposeful friendship that Deanna was getting from the lady, Deanna looked up at Worf. "Let's go for a walk, Worf." Half-tugging, half-guiding, she moved her Klingon out the terrace doors.

Lwaxana called after her, "Why don't you show Woof the Mirror Pool, Deanna? The Alanian pond lilies are especially fragrant at this time of night."

Worf came to a stand-still, stopping Deanna's movement, and turned, trying his very best not to glare at the mother of his beloved. Or to raise his voice. "Mrs. Troi, my name is Worf. Not   
Woof!"

"Whatever, Mr. Wharf. Go on with your walk." Lwaxana moved away from Helena, shrugging off the woman's hand. "Alexander," she ordered rather than suggested, "Why don't you take your grandfather over to Mr. Homm and have my servant show you my late husband's playroom. Ian was especially fond of star ship models, you know. He liked to make things that fly. Some still do. I'm sure that you'll like playing with them."

Sergey didn't quite know what was going on, but he had acquired enough wisdom during his lifetime to know that now was not the time to be around either his wife or the mother of his hostess.

"Come, Alexander. I want to get to know this Mr. Homm better. He is somewhat of an amazing man." Sergey didn't add that he'd been impressed by the man's drinking capacity. Watching the servant guzzle during the dinner had been a mesmerizing experience. Sergey had encountered Nausicaans who'd have cried uncle! and collapsed dead long before they'd drunk the amount that Mr. Homm had consumed.

After they left, Lwaxana Troi whirled her skirts about her, allowing the deep purple train of her dress to trail behind her as she regally strode over to an armchair by the window overlooking the very garden where she'd sent her daughter. She was every inch a daughter of the Fifth House of Betazed. Unfortunately, her imposing demeanor that had scared many a starship captain had little effect on Helena Rozhenko.

Helena was a woman who had battled Gaultian plagues, do-gooder humans, Starfleet officers and Klingon rokegs alike to make and keep her family. One pretentious, self-important, overbearing Betazoid female was not about to even put a dent in her armor.

"Well," Lwaxana drawled, "are you going to apologize?"

Helena kept her temper. "For what?"

"For thinking that I was trying to take Alexander away from you." As Helena started to sputter, Lwaxana waved her hand in denial. "I never would do that. You're his grandmother. That won't ever change."

"I'm glad that you realize it."

"But I know more than you think."

Both women glared at each other - one sitting and one standing. Suddenly, the one standing decided to equalize things a bit. She sat down on a floral upholstered garden chair opposite of the lady who sometimes actually drank from the sacred chalice of Rixx.

Lwaxana started to laugh, a great belly full of a sound that was decidedly un-ambassador like.

She laughed and laughed until Helena joined in with her. And when they were done laughing, Lwaxana leaned forward and said, "Well, why don't we get right down to it. What is really important to both of us - our children. Or, as my dear departed husband used to say, polish the brass tacks with it."

Helena didn't think that the late Mr. Troi said that phrase quite the way Lwaxana repeated it, but it didn't matter. They had more important things to discuss than Terran maxims.

"Well, I can't read minds, Lwaxana Troi. Even if you do without an invitation. So what's on your mind?"

"Grandchildren."

"Alexander?"

"In a way. You have your grandson. I want one too."

Helena nodded. "And I want more grandchildren. I love Alexander. But I never got a chance to hold him as a baby; to play with him. I missed all of those important years with my grandson."

"He'll become my grandson as well if my Deanna marries your Worf."

"True." Helena nodded again. She noticed that Lwaxana could correctly say her son's name when she wished to do so. But she didn't say anything about it. "Alexander is fond of you. He tells such wild stories about the time he was on board the Enterprise. In fact, he was expressing to me that it is a Betazed custom to be nude at your people's weddings."

"Fancy that," Lwaxana murmured.

"So, how do we do it?"

'Do what, Helena?"

"Get the two of them together."

"They've already done that," Lwaxana archly commented. "And more than once, judging by the way my daughter gazes at Mr. Worf."

Helena chuckled, "He takes after his father in that respect."

Both women shared a knowing look, and then laughed together again.

Helena continued. "Much as I love Alexander…"

"We have to do something about getting more grandchildren," Lwaxana finished.

"So, how do we convince them to get married?"

"Move in here."

"What?"

"Well, they can't have sex with you occupying his quarters at the Embassy. I could sense that Worf would be embarrassed if you were around when he was doing whatever it is that Klingons do when they are making love. So, give them more privacy. You can stay here with me and I'll supervise their courtship."

"We will supervise their courtship together, Lwaxana. There are a few things about Klingon minds that you may not be able to read."

"One of my guest houses is a far better choice than adjoining rooms to Worf's quarters," Lwaxana stated, sensing all of Helena's objections and obliterating them, one by one. "Besides, I've got plenty of room. It will give my servants something to do. I'm no trouble for them at all by myself."

"It will give you more time with Alexander."

"That too, Helena. The boy needs me in his life to counterbalance all of the nonsense that my daughter is trying to teach him. Stuff learned from her parental psychology courses and all of the silliness that Worf learned from Starfleet."

"What?" Helena squealed, this time with indignation.

"Do you know my daughter actually had your son write up a contract for the boy to follow? All proper and legal like. Imagine! So concerned about the boundaries of life that they both forget how important it is for the boy to learn to be himself - to enjoy life."

"Starfleet did that to them."

"You're right," Lwaxana agreed. When it came to getting more grandchildren, the two ladies were in complete accord. Worf and Deanna didn't stand a chance.

In a gorgeous garden, not too far away from the main house, 'neath a trailing jacqar tree, two lovers sat by a pool. They were ignoring the seductive beauties about them. They weren't loving each other. Instead, they were discussing their two mothers.

"You know what she is up to, don't you Worf?"

Worf didn't have to ask who the she was. He had learned to recognize when Deanna was making reference to her mother by the shrill tones that colored her voice.

"My mother is in agreement with her."

"Yes, I sensed that too." She shook her head, suddenly quite weary. She blamed her mother for making her so, discounting the fact that she'd had little sleep over the past few nights. "What are we going to do, Worf? They are going to meddle. You don't have to be a telepath to know it."

"Let them meddle, Deanna." He hugged her close to him, enjoying feeling her pressed up against his chest. "We will survive."

"You know what they want."

"It is something I have considered," Worf admitted. Worf trailed his fingers over the planes of her cheek until he reached her chin, tucking it lightly upward so that they were looking into each other's eyes.

"Worf, are you discussing marriage?"

"Surely it is something that you have considered, Deanna."

He bent slightly, touching his lips gently against her.

"Worf, I need time to think about this. We have all the time that we need to think about marriage, that is. However, we must also deal with our mothers. They will not be so patient."

"Then we must be."

"There's only one problem, Worf."

"What, Deanna?"

"I can feel them circling in for the kill."

"Our mothers wish to kill us?"

Deanna laughed. Then she kissed him back, the light touch of her lips fanning a flame between them.

Worf drew back. "We cannot. Not now."

Deanna sighed knowing that he was right. She relaxed in his arms, looking about the flowers surrounding them. "I love these gardens. They are so beautiful, so peaceful at night."

"I will always remember this place. It is our place for glory."

"But tonight, there are too many people about for us to have enough peace in order to achieve glory again," she teased. Then she looked about the gardens again with its picture-perfect setting for romance. She sensed something more from her mother. Her thoughts turned to more serious considerations than sex. "Our mothers are plotting."

"What do you mean, Deanna?"

"They wanted us to be alone in this garden."

"Surely that is not so unusual?"

"For my mother? She has never, ever before encouraged me to go in the garden with a boyfriend before. She used to follow me with some sort of disruptor gun whenever I came out here in the past with a boy, with Mr. Homm trailing behind to clean up the bloody mess."

"I am not a boy-friend. I am a man."

Deanna snuggled closed to him, pressing her breasts against his chest. "I most certainly can testify to that."

"Then what Lwaxana is doing has a purpose. She must want something from us."

Deanna didn't have to be psychic to figure out what. "Damn her!"

"What?" Worf was concerned. He didn't want Deanna to be angry with her mother because of him.

"Grandchildren!'

Worf suddenly leaned back against the lounge chair's metal back, thinking. "My mother has mentioned that word frequently to me as well." He studied Deanna's face before asking, "Do you mind?"

"Having children?"

"Having my children?"

"What do you think, Worf?" She kissed him passionately, letting her desire flow through their touching. Then she struggled to break the kiss, suddenly realizing that she was giving her mother exactly what the woman wanted.

"My mother is hoping that our passions will run away with us - that we'll be careless."

Worf suddenly grinned, his teeth flashing as he swooped in to kiss her, capturing her lower lip, teasing her mouth open to accept his tongue's caress. He found the very thought of creating a child with Deanna to be quite arousing. He let her know it.

It took Deanna much longer to break away from these kisses. She had a feeling that if she wasn't careful to keep a tight control on their emotions, Worf would truly tumble her midst her mother's award winning Janaran ginger lilies. And while she found much pleasure in that thought, she didn't want it to happen tonight, almost as if by royal command from her mother.

Worf took a deep breath, then immediately regretted doing it. He found the scent of the garden's flowers to be quite stimulating. And Deanna didn't wish for him to be too stimulated at the moment.

"Your mother is a wise woman," he pronounced, knowing that such a statement would annoy her.

"Whatever you do, Worf, don't tell her that."

"Since I have thought it, does she not already know it?"

He did have a point. Deanna groaned, resting her head against his chest.

"We will marry, Deanna," he whispered against her hair, running his fingers through several strands of black silk, liking the feel of it as it slipped through his fingers. He had visions of   
braiding lover's warrior knots in it, to hold tokens of his passion. "We will marry when we wish to marry, and only then."

"Worf, you are a stronger person that I am if you think that we can withstand the pressures of both your mother and mine."

"I will be strong enough for both of us."

"Just wait until they coax Alexander into whining about wanting a little brother or sister…" Deanna muttered against his chest.

"My mother would not!" Worf protested, appalled at the idea of his son being used as a pawn against him.

"Oh, my mother would…"

=/\= =/\= =/\=

As the days passed, Jean-Luc Picard's reluctant respect for Captain Ragner increased. He ran the Adama as a tight yet sparingly controlled ship. And Jean-Luc could appreciate the skill necessary to do so, for Ragner was governing a ragtag crew if there ever was one, with an efficiency of management that would have impressed Data.

Ragner was a fair captain, cautious yet crafty in his negotiations with the traders that they encountered along their course. Picard had learned from Ro that their travel route was repeated on a regular basis with regular customers and stops. Her function on board was to acquire supplies for the Maquis and arrange for their delivery where needed. Purportedly not Maquis though some of his actions indicated otherwise, Picard still hadn't quite determined all that Ragner was and was not. Like the other Vorlos that Picard had encountered in the past, Ragner hid his intentions by a jovial manner and an astute judgment of character. But Picard never forgot the deadly viciousness that was also possible. No Vorlo liked to be crossed by anyone.

For the past few days, Picard had labored a duty shift mainly working on and rebuilding the Heisenberg compensators. Picard understood the shrewdness of this Vorlo captain's actions. He clearly did not completely trust Ro's Johnny, for Picard had yet to work a shift in any area that was of vital importance.

Ro Laren.

Merde.

Picard thought of the lady and knew that regardless of what happened in the future, he would have to deal with the mess that he was making of the present. He was surprised and dismayed over what he was doing with the woman. Picard had always prided himself on his rational and reasonable dealings with members of the opposite sex, though his women might have thought otherwise. But Ro Laren was proving to be the exception. Picard had not envisioned himself capable of such ill advised behavior with any woman, much less Ro Laren.

Because of Beverly. Of course, there had been no formal declaration between Beverly and himself. And considering the lady's state of mind when he'd left her on Caldos, there was indeed a good possibility that a state of mutual understanding would never ever be reached between them. So technically, he should not be having any ethical difficulties about having a relationship with Ro Laren.

Still, Jean-Luc had a problem. Why did he feel so damned guilty when it came to Ro? She asked nothing of him beyond some comfort in the night. And that alone was part of the problem. He found himself turning to her, even when it was not a matter of his immediate life or death. He had not thought himself capable of exploiting someone, even though the woman was willingly exhausting him as much as he was using her.

Jean-Luc Picard had not indulged in a casual affaire de coeur since the year he had unfortunately acquired his artificial heart. Along with his mechanical organ, he had gained some wisdom as well. Since his twenty-first year, even when on shore leave, he had not pursued meaningless pleasure. His affairs, though infrequent, had been heartfelt albeit of short duration. Whenever a woman became a lover or friend, or sometimes both, whenever she got too close to him, whenever she became a danger to his goal of becoming a starship captain or remaining as a starship captain, their relationship would end. Sometimes the friendship survived. Though he had come to realize that such a friendship was a rare occurrence. Still, all of these women who haunted his past, had an understanding of their position in his life. Picard suspected that Ro Laren didn't. Or, that if she did, she didn't care to acknowledge it.

And that was what worried him the most - that somehow, even though the lady was willing, he was taking unfair advantage of her. For most of his adult life, Picard had always considered his lovers to be his equal. Even now, when there was no possibility of Starfleet rank between them, Picard still felt as if he were profiting at Ro Laren's expense. And he did not like this feeling.  
Perhaps if he could discuss the matter with Ro Laren, things could be resolved. But with the constant fear of their conversation and actions being monitored, there was little that he could overtly do. Few men, much less the rogue that he was pretending to be, would worry themselves about moral niceties, and not take all that was being freely offered. To openly question his relationship with Ro would only arouse even more, Captain Ragner's suspicions.

After he finished cleaning the last coupling, Picard agreed to meet with his fellow workers for a drink in the Adama's common room. His experience as the pirate Galen had taught him the wisdom behind getting to know members of the crew, even if it was a motley one.

Entering the quarters that he shared with Ro, he was not surprised to discover that he was alone. Ro only seemed to be around during their sleep periods. It was almost as if the lady was avoiding his company during the other shifts.

Stripping off his mud brown work suit, he took a quick shower, appreciating the single luxury that Ro's quarters offered. When he was clean, he quickly dressed in similar brown clothing consisting of a knit shirt and pants, with half-boots. Unlike the Vorlo who preferred bright colors that could singe an eye's irises when gazed upon, Picard liked wearing neutral colors that did not attract attention. Checking the computer, he decided that he could visit Mela before going to the common room. He had enough time.

He found Mela's children playing outside the kitchen. When they sighted him, they greeted him with giggles knowing that at this late hour, he wasn't visiting them as their teacher. He played ball with them for a few moments patiently listening to their rapid chatter of tales of what life had been like for them during the past few days. Picard was relieved to see that they had been treated well if indifferently by the crew.

One more time he considered that starships were no place for children.

And then the door to the galley slid open. Mela came out, smiling at the three of them rolling about the corridor's floor. Picard stood, dusting himself off, before reaching over to take Mela's hand. He considered the lady. Tendrils of honey brown hair had escaped from her combs. The tendrils stuck damply to her forehead. She seemed more pale than when she had been on board the Unk. She winced, as if she experienced a flash of pain when she took his hand. He held it captive between both of his palms, his fingers searching her wrist for her pulse. It seemed uneven, rapid. He thought that she seemed tired. And he was worried that she was working too much. Preparing meals for a mixed crew of over twenty people was not an easy task at any time, much less when the cook was in her eighth month of pregnancy.

"Mela, I will speak to the captain. You shouldn't be working, especially not so hard, in your condition."

"It is all right, Johnny." She unconsciously used the name that the crew now called him.

"Does your husband not have a care for you?" he angrily asked. "How could he have left you to travel alone?"

She yanked her hand away from him. "It is not for you to say or condemn."

He nodded, accepting her rebuke, knowing that she was right. It was not his place to judge - or at least to say it out loud. "Forgive me, Mela?"

She nodded, knowing that no woman possessing any semblance of sanity or common sense, could be angry with him for too long.

"Of course. I'm just not used to any man hovering about me, that's all."

Jean-Luc froze. Mela's use of the word hovering conjured up remembrances of Eline accusing him of the exact same thing when she had been pregnant, oh so long ago.

"I will speak to Captain Ragner. I may not be as good a cook as you, but in my youth I did learn a few things about preparing meals for a hungry crowd of field workers. Surely with the replicators and working under your supervision, I can serve up edible meals."

"You are volunteering to cook?" She then reviewed what he had just said. "You're a farmer?"

"My father was a vintner. Besides, someone must cook otherwise Ragner will put us all on Vulcan survival rations. From what I have seen, the replicators are not exactly up to Federation Standard."

"I've done the best I can, Johnny!"

"I wasn't insulting your cooking, Mela." Picard leaned forward, conspiratorially whispering, "I was insulting our host and his ship." Mela laughed. And Picard felt as if he had accomplished something good at least once today. "Now, go and sit down, Mela. I'll make sure that Jory and Harla do not get into any more mischief." He cast his most captainly gaze down at the children. 

"And if you do behave, I shall challenge each of you to a game of chess after dinner. Agreed?"

The children quickly nodded.

Several hours later, his intention to join his crewmates for drinks all but forgot, Picard wiped his hands for the last time this day, on the towel that he had tied about his waist. A reasonably tasty stew was simmering, fruit compote glazed with treacle was on a shelf in the cooling unit, and coffee strong enough to remove Gonal space barnacles was near boiling on the cooker. He relaxed.

"This food will keep through the next two shifts. Rest, Mela. I've fixed a cold meal for breakfast. The crew can help themselves."

She was too tired to argue. She agreed.

He helped her down from the counter stool where she'd been sitting and supervising in the small but surprisingly well-appointed galley, and then they slowly walked toward her cabin door. Jory and Harla followed. They ran into a blustering Ragner outside her quarters.

"Johnny! Since when did I give you permission to become the cook?" Ragner bellowed, displaying his annoyance over Johnny's presumptuousness.

"Since the moment I decided that you didn't need the lady giving birth during the middle of baking a cake."

"Who told you, you could?"

Picard immediately understood he had made a tactical error. Picard nodded, staring at the man who willingly chose to wear a puce coat trimmed in bright pink piping. "I apologize, Captain. I must admit, I've been my own man for so long, that I must be reminded of ship's protocol. I meant no harm - or disrespect."

Ragner's eyes narrowed, studying the man before him. If anyone else in his crew had said such words to him, he'd have been prone to haul the man up on his homemade yardarm and look up the definition of keelhauling for this insubordination. He sensed otherwise with this man. "I'll order unlocked the replicators in the common room. I suppose that I can spare the power for their use over the next few days. That'll take care of most of the fare for my crew." He directed his glare toward Mela. "Little woman, when you need help, you ask me for it. I'm the one you come to for anything around here. You're too good a cook for me to lose you through female foolishness."

"Captain Ragner, this is only the second space ship that Mela has ever been on. She doesn't know space faring ways."

Ragner veered his gaze back to Picard. "Understood. Don't do it again. I guard my right to be a petty dictator carefully. It's one of the perks of being a Vorlo and a ship's captain." Ragner turned to walk away before he added, "Oh, and Johnny, see me tomorrow morning at 1100 hours, with Ro Laren. I've got the two of you in mind for another job."

In what some would refer to as the middle of the dead man's shift, Picard finally made it back to Ro's quarters. His sojourn as chef had worn him out, especially coming off the end of a long duty shift. All he wanted was to sleep. Ro Laren had other ideas. She was somewhat persuasive.

The next day, he remembered Ragner's orders and told her about them, ten minutes before they were due in the captain's ready room. She rolled away from him on the bed, staring at him as if he had gone mad.

"You only now remember to tell me?"

"Laren, can I help it if you distracted me? Several times as I recall?"

"That was only late last night and early this morning."

"Then, you simply wore me out," he baited.

She glowered at him before she reached across his chest and hit a comm panel button. "Captain Ragner?" she ordered.

"Yes, Ro?" came the muffled response.

"We're going to be late," she said anger lending an edge to her words.

"I know," Ragner responded. "Take your time. I don't want to get out of bed, either."

She sat up and looked with anger upon everything in the room including Picard and the monitor that she had somewhat hoped had been shut off.

"Sometimes, I just want to scream my head off," she stated to the air, as she climbed over his body to get to the floor.

"Sometimes Laren, you do," he archly commented, as he watched her move about, appreciating the sight of her lithe naked body. His eyes darkened with memories of their passion during the night.

She made it to the shower only two steps ahead of him.

Finally dressed and reasonably presentable, the pair of them made their way to Ragner's ready room. Picard couldn't help but contrast it to the ready rooms of his past. For one thing, no one would ever call Ragner a neat man. Star charts sprawled over boxes of contraband liquor. Salt sticks and widgets were scattered over every horizontal surface in the room. The single window of the room didn't provide a view of the galaxies. Instead, pasted on it were various graphs of many types from Dilithium flow charts to crew rotation schedules. There also was artwork that could either be described as primitive or were the efforts of a child - a very young child. Picard had not suspected that Ragner might actually be a family man. But only a loving parent would have hung these attempts at creating art.

Standing before Ragner's desk, the captain motioned for them to sit down. "Just shove that stuff off of those chairs," he commanded.

They complied.

Ragner nodded for a moment, then picked up his mug, and drained whatever the liquid was that was inside of it. Picard suspected that it wasn't coffee. A faint smell of alcohol floated in the air.

"Ro, I want you to take your runabout and rendezvous with our Ferengi friends at Thelka II. Take Johnny here, with you. You know what you're supposed to do."

"Understood, Captain."

"You can leave, Ro." Ragner nodded his head in the direction of the door. "Stay, Johnny, I want to talk to you."

Hiding her nervousness behind a belligerent frown, Ro walked over to the door. "Don't hurt Johnny, Captain. I wouldn't want to have to kill you," she threatened.

Ragner knew that Ro wasn't jesting. He chuckled as the lady left.

"The lady has taken a personal interest in you, Johnny. You're a most fortunate man."

"Yes. Sometimes I do wonder about my luck," Picard amiably agreed. "You obviously have something on your mind, Captain. What?"

"You know where Thelka is, Johnny?"

"I've never been there, but I have heard of it. It's supposed to be a neutral planet with somewhat of a trading-last-chance-out-post with an anything goes atmosphere."

"Yes, it's neutral. Or as neutral as any place can be when the Cardies have an interest in it." Ragner stood and went over to a chest, rummaging about some of the objects on the surface. He found what he was looking for, a flask of some sort, and brought it over to the desk. He poured an orange liquid in his mug, and then handed the tin flask over to Johnny. "Normally, Ro would go alone. She makes the financial arrangements for me and for the Maquis. But I got word yesterday that there was a raid on Tohvun V. Cardies attacked a settlement there. Don't   
think she should go alone now."

Picard's lips tightened as he remembered where he had heard the planet's name before. Mela. He uncapped the flask, and took a swig, stifling a cough as the vile liquor burned down his throat. He wasn't sure what it tasted like. In fact, he didn't want to ever precisely recall what this liquid really tasted like.

"Were they any survivors, Captain?" he hoarsely choked out.

"Don't know. But I'll find out. According to the report I received, the raid was done by renegade Cardies."

Picard snorted in disbelief. "About as renegade as officers of the Obsidian Order pretend to be."

Ragner nodded. "You know a lot about the politics of this region, Johnny."

"Yes, I do. I don't necessarily consider such knowledge to be a blessing."

'But it's kept you alive."

"So far, Captain."

"There are Cardies on Thelka. And we are nearing their borders. They might pay attention to the Adama."

"I would prefer not to be introduced to any Cardassians, Captain."

"I thought as much," Ragner agreed. He grabbed the flask away from Picard. "Cardies want you for something?"

"I don't know of any Cardassian who'd personally want me for a friend."

"Stay with Ro, then. And keep out of trouble. Keep her out of trouble."

"I've known Ro Laren for several years, Captain. You ask the impossible. However, I will do my best, but I am not promising anything."

"You will come back with her, won't you Johnny? You won't try to run off?"

"I promised Mela that I'd be there if she needs me when she's having her child."

"Yes, I suspect that you're a man who'd keep his word."

"Is there anything else, Captain?" Picard moved as if to rise.

Ragner dismissed him. But as Picard carefully stepped his way about boxes and half-empty packing containers strewn over the floor, Ragner spoke again. "You're Starfleet, aren't you Johnny?"

"No."

"The expression Ragner's face told Picard that the man did not believe him.

"I was Starfleet once. Right now, I'm not."

"Good. You'll keep your word then."

"I always do to the best of my ability."

"Then you fly the runabout, Johnny."

"Why? Ro's a good pilot. I've even let her pilot my ship…", he paused for a second, briefly remembering his ship, "… that is, when I had a ship, a long time ago…"

"You're a better pilot, I think. I don't know of many who'd have had the guramba to pilot a space pod with barely enough energy to keep lights going, through the treacherous path of an asteroid belt. Much less a man doing it with two brats and a pregnant woman. If that's not guramba, I don't know what is."

Picard nodded, not quite sure if there was anything appropriate to say at the moment.

"Bring my runabout back in one piece, Johnny. Damned things cost too much to replace."

"Understood, Captain."

"And Johnny…"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Keep Ro out of the bars. She tends to irritate people when she's in bars. She doesn't know when to stop fighting the Bajoran War for Independence."

"Captain, not knowing when to quit has always been part of Ro Laren's charm. Though I have been with her in a bar, before. I do understand your warning."

"Was Ro Starfleet too?"

"Last time I said goodbye to the lady, she was working in a saloon. She wasn't a Starfleet officer then. And she certainly isn't now."

Ragner laughed, shaking with amusement. "Keep your secrets, Johnny. As long as they don't interfere with my ship, I don't care what they are. And, stay clear of the Cardies."

"Will do, Sir."

Two hours later, with their duty bags stowed safely away on board the runabout Starbuck, Picard went through the pre-flight check of equipment.

"Ship's not bugged, Johnny," Ro cheerfully stated, as she climbed into the pilot's chair next to the man.

"Once we leave the ship, we'll check again."

"Don't you trust me, Johnny?" Ro innocently asked, trying to be playful.

"No."

He ignored the look of surprised anger that crossed her face. He didn't see the pain in her eyes as well at his words. Clearly, they had a lot to discuss in private during their trip to Thelka II.  
Moments later they were off. About ten minutes after that, Picard proceeded to thoroughly inspect and survey the interior of the cabin. "If Ragner is bugging this ship then he must be using organic technology," Picard declared, putting away his Tricorder. "Is it safe to talk, Ro?"

"I don't know if you should be asking me that question, Johnny."

He raised his eyebrow. "Johnny? Not Captain?"

"You stopped being my captain the day I quit Starfleet, Johnny."

He mulled over her words as he returned to his chair. Without saying a word, he took over command of the controls.

She let him.

Almost half an hour later, after he was sure that everything was in order, and that their route was correct, he turned and faced his former junior officer. "I know that I stopped being your commanding officer, Ro, the moment that you chose the Maquis over doing your duty. But Starfleet does not."

"Huh? What?"

He turned attention onto his comm panel for a moment.

"What do you mean?" Ro demanded.

Picard still studied the panel, even as he spoke. "Will Riker's final report. He implied that there was a possibility that you had been beamed away by the Maquis against your will."

"Are you saying that Will put in his report that I was kidnapped? Riker lied?"

"Not exactly. He didn't explicitly lie. He just chose his words sparsely and carefully. At the time, I didn't understand why he had been so circumspect. Your defection can be justified. If you wish to return to Starfleet, if you voluntarily turn yourself over to the authorities, I will speak on your behalf." He turned his gaze away from the panel and back to Ro Laren.

"I don't believe you! After all that I've done, you want me to go back to Starfleet? I never considered you to be a deliberately cruel man before, Captain."

"You were a good officer, Lieutenant."

"And you want me to be one again? Hah! You, of all people, could just forget a little detail like my being a Maquis?"

"There are those in Starfleet who believe that the Maquis are more justified in their actions than not, Ro."

"And you are one of them?"

"As long as I wore the uniform of a Starfleet officer, I had no honorable choice other than to follow Starfleet's commands." He smiled, more in sympathy with her than she would have suspected. "Now, that I no longer am an active officer, I must admit that I understand and sympathize with some of the Maquis intentions." He looked at her, his eyes suddenly turning cold. "But, since you asked me if I could ignore all that you have done, the answer is no. I did not contradict my Number One's report simply because I was willing to give you the benefit of his doubt. If it had been my preference, you would have been on Starfleet's most wanted list of criminals from the point when you defied your orders. You betrayed almost everything that I have ever held in esteem."

She was hurt by his words, but she didn't reveal it. She had known, since the moment she had pulled the phaser on Will Riker what Picard's reaction would be. At least now they were free to speak the truth to each other

"So you really want me back in Starfleet? You'd have to lie. I don't know if I would lie even to help myself. I've never exactly been prize officer material."

"I beg to differ. At one time I thought that you had the potential to become the very best in Starfleet." He looked at her, unconsciously admiring the way she looked at this moment, her face animated with anger and exasperation. "You were right. I made a mistake by ordering you to obey Admiral Nechayev's commands."

"I agree. But I also made a mistake too, by letting you order me into infiltrating the Maquis."

"The Admiral didn't give either one of us much of a choice, Ro." He looked away from her for a second. "I thought over some of the things that you said to me, Ro. In some respects, you were   
correct."

"Should I faint now, or wait until bedtime?"

"Don't be impertinent, Ro. I've never cared for that side of your nature."

"You're not my commanding officer anymore, Jean-Luc. I can do what I damn well please. You should be grateful that I saved your ass from Ragner. If he really thought that you were Starfleet…"

Picard interrupted her. "I already admitted to him that I am - that I was."

"What?"

"The man may act like a Pakled and dress like a Q Continuum side-show buffoon, but he is not a fool. He already suspected I was Starfleet. So I told him the truth."

"Ragner would be flattered if he knew how high was the esteem that the great Starfleet captain held for him. Are you going to tell him that, too?"

Picard shoved himself away from the comm panel, and leaned back against his chair trying to really comprehend her motivations. He suspected that he had only scratched the surface of this very complex Bajoran.

"Promise me something, Ro Laren."

"What?" she warily asked.

"Someday, you'll tell me the truth about what really happened on Garon II."

"What does ancient history have to do with anything?"

"Eight people died."

"Starfleet found me guilty."

"I'm sure that you were guilty - of being a short-tempered Bajoran with a tendency towards insubordination. I know as your former commanding officer that your temper was not one of your more endearing traits."

"Don't forget my fondness for mutiny," Ro interjected.

Picard stifled a laugh at this remark. "But you would never betray your fellow comrades by cowardice. If anything, you would fight to the death in order to follow your conscience and to save their lives."

"Unfortunately, the deaths I fought for were those in my away team and not my own."

"Then all I ask, Ro, is that someday you tell me the truth."

"I've always tried to tell you the truth whenever I could."

He nodded, getting up and then ordering some tea from the replicator. And then ordered a strong coffee, double sweet.

He handed her the mug, then returned to his captain's chair. "Your honesty was one of the things that made me believe in you, Ro."

"Thanks, I think." She stretched her long legs, crossing them at the ankles. Even in ugly clothes that did little to flatter the female form, Ro Laren was a striking woman. Picard could appreciate this even as he fought against losing his temper with her. But his gaze was still frigid as he stood, moving closer to her, leaning against the comm panel that was next to her. He had put down his mug on the panel, an act which shocked Ro, considering his unspoken rules about mugs on the Enterprise's bridge.

"I understand what you did and even accept why you did it, Ro Laren. But I cannot forgive what you did. Regardless of how much I might sympathize, you betrayed your oath. You could return to Starfleet based upon Riker's actions."

"But though you would speak on my behalf, you wouldn't want me as an officer under your command ever again."

"Regardless of my championing of you Ro, you are correct. I would not want you as a Starfleet officer under my command ever again. You don't deserve it. But I would do my best to keep you out of prison. However, the point is moot, since I doubt that I will ever be an active Starfleet officer again."

He walked towards the aft part of the ship and the tiny cabins that were back there.

"Of all the almighty gall!" she howled, chasing after him. When she caught him, she spun him around to face her. "Or, hadn't you noticed that I'm serving under your command right now?"

"Actually, I believe the reverse is true. I don't think Ragner appointed me the officer in charge of this mission."

"Damn you, Jean-Luc Picard! I didn't ask you to come here and make a mess out of my life all over again!"

"No, you did it quite well without my help."

She raised her right hand to slap him. But a micron or two away from his face, she stopped, knowing that her anger was really directed more toward her inner self than to him. He didn't   
flinch, almost as if he were willing to accept her censure.

Tears welled up in her eyes, as she left him, running into one of the small sleeping cubicles, locking the door behind her.

He'd only spoke the truth. Still, there was an acrid taste in his mouth. He heartily wished that things had turned out differently.

Somehow knowing that Ro Laren was not that different from other women of his acquaintance, he returned to his pilot's chair doing redundancy checks on everything. She'd come out when   
she was ready. To go in after her would be an insult to her character. Or a big mistake…

Over an hour later, he heard a door slide open. Not turning around, he stated, "I've been monitoring the communication channels. So far, we've attracted no one's notice."

"That's not necessarily a good sign. Both the Cardies and the Romulans don't like to let their presence be known until it's too late to do anything about it. And in this nether land between the zones, they can do whatever they choose to do, to us."

He turned his head, finally looking at her, behaving as if all were normal between them - as if none of their prior words had been angry or had been bitter.

"You know this section of space better than I do, Ro. Do you want to take over the controls?"

"I don't know if I want to. I rather like the thought of being chauffeured around by a Starfleet captain."

She had returned to the non-confrontational status that had been the tenor of relations between them for the past few days. It was the easy way for both of them. But Picard was never one to choose such a path.

"I won't apologize, Ro," he quietly stated. "I didn't want you to misconstrue my feelings and beliefs."

"I was in no danger of misunderstanding you, Captain." Biting her lip to keep it from trembling, she whispered, "So where do we go from here?"

"If I make arrangements on Thelka II for transport to Tohvun and then Gaudete II, do you think Ragner will try to stop me?"

"That will take credits, Jean-Luc. Do you have any?"

"We're meeting Ferengi, aren't we?"

"Yes. I've dealt with a DaiMon Behlk several times. He's not a bad sort, aside from the fact that he is a Ferengi."

"Twice in the past, a Ferengi by the name of DaiMon Bok used Ferengi ships and misled his superiors and crew in order to wage a campaign of personal revenge against me."

"Ticked him off, eh?"

"He blamed me for the death of his son."

Ro could say nothing about this statement. Whatever else Jean-Luc had done, he had never killed casually or taken life without just cause.

"Settling things the only way that the Ferengi government ever would do, they awarded me some money as reparation for the Bok's actions. At the time, I never thought that I'd have reason to touch the credits. The money is in a Ferengi bank account somewhere."

"Which you'll be able to access when we get to Thelka. Will there be enough for transport and to satisfy Ragner?"

"I'm not sure of the amount but I suspect that it is considerable. After all, just how much do you think a Starfleet starship captain with a valid complaint against the Ferengi High Council of Business could command?"

"Probably just enough gold pressed latinum to please Ragner."

They both worked in silence for a while, taking care of the minor details in the running of this runabout.

Ro finally found enough courage to ask a question that had been preying on her mind. "What did you mean by moot point?"

It took Picard a moment to remember her reference. "I have lost two starships; Ro. Starfleet doesn't usually reward captains for such behavior."

"So they kicked you out of their precious little captain's club, eh?"

"Not officially, but almost."

"Are you in or are you out of Starfleet, Johnny? You seem to keep giving me a different answer every time I ask you that question."

"I am on personal leave, Ro. A sabbatical. And it has been strongly suggested by more than one admiral that I never come back."

She was silent for a while. She didn't have to ask how much Starfleet had meant to him. Anyone who has ever served under the man knew the answer to that question. "So you don't have to go back to Starfleet?"

"I think that if I am ever an active Starfleet officer again, it will only be because I kicked down a door in order to get back inside."

She thought for a while, listening to the rhythmic sounds from the equipment about her. The patterns of the beeps and tweets that were the constant background noise on board any space ship, were a comfort to her. Listening to these sounds helped her focus her perceptions of what Jean-Luc was and was not saying to her.

"You said that you sort of sympathize with the Maquis."

"I said that I understand the Maquis. That is not quite the same thing."

If there was one thing that Ro Laren never lacked, it was the courage to take foolish chances now and then. So she said what was on her mind. "You could become Maquis. They would welcome you."

"That I do not doubt." His voice was neutral as if Ro had just made a comment about how many stars there were in the sky.

She turned in her chair, facing him, forcing him to look at her. "I mean it. There'd be no dishonor if you joined us now. Only respect."

He looked into her eyes, seeing tendered there all that she wasn't saying. It would be so easy to accept her silent offer.

"Did you really think that I could do anything else, Laren?" His smile was humorless, though the glint in his eyes held a self-mocking flicker.

"The epitome of a bloody Starfleet captain until your bitter end, eh Jean-Luc?"

"Something like that, Ro Laren."

Silence was her only response.

Hours later, Jean-Luc announced "We'll be arriving at Thelka in twenty hours. Do you want the first sleep shift or shall I take it?"

"I'm not tired, Johnny. You go ahead. Believe it or not, I actually brought some book chips with me. Don't know why, but ever since I was in a Federation prison, I learned to read for no one's sake but my own. Those books and the stims in my coffee will keep me awake."

He accepted her statement and then smiled.

"What's so amusing?" she warily asked. She knew that look.

"I'm mentally debating over what it is that you choose to read, Laren."

"Why? What do you think I'd choose to read?"

"It's a tossup between blood-thirsty battle stories or how-to books on murder, guerilla warfare, untraceable poisons or revenge techniques."

"I could write those kinds of books, Johnny." She paused, thinking of something unpleasant. "You don't think I'm the type to read romantic stories?"

"Only if you were a Klingon."

She laughed. It was the first natural sounding laugh she'd made since she boarded the Starbuck. "You're right. Klingon erotica contains a certain element of violence and pain that some might find arousing."

"Wake me at 1900," he ordered, walking away from her. "There's a hamper of food in the galley. And don't worry, Mela fixed it. I didn't."

She laughed again as she bid him good night. Then she audibly sighed. It was a rueful sound. She had envisioned her hours with Jean-Luc alone and unobserved on board the runabout, being spent in a slightly different manner. Oh, she had known that they would argue, and that angry words would be hollered. But she had truly hoped that after the arguing the relationship that they'd formed on board the Adama would carry over into their private journey alone. And that after the fighting there would have been a time for apologies, explanations and lots of sex.  
Now she had the answer to the one question that even she had not had the courage to ask Jean-Luc Picard out loud. He had only been having sex with her because it was part of their performance for Ragner. He had only been acting. Now, that he had the freedom to do as he pleased, his lack of action was the answer to a question that she had beseeched the Bajoran prophets to never really answer.

Ro Laren had spent most of her life alone. Sad. Isolated. Removed from the kinship and companionship that most humanoid cultures considered to be customary.

Now, for a few hurried days, the coldness of her life had his presence to give it warmth. She'd known from their first kiss that is wasn't what he would define as love. And she had certainly never spoken that word aloud to anyone in her life. But she had hoped that he'd at least liked her company. Now, she knew better. She had gambled one time too often. Considering the number of losses in her life, she supposed that she should have been used to it by now. She was not.

Sighing out loud this time, she pulled out her book chip and inserted it into the viewer. Jean-Luc would have been surprised by her preference in reading. She had a weakness for mysteries. Not the blood-bang-bang-and guts-kind, but the genteel works of fiction written best by Earth authors of the 19th and 20th centuries, especially those bearing the sobriquet of English mysteries. This particular book was the penultimate work by Dorothy Sayers, Gaudy Night. Even though their situations were vastly different, Ro found herself empathizing with Harriet Vane.  
For what seemed like only a minute later, but in actuality over seven hours had passed, she felt herself being picked up by strong arms.

"Ma belle," he whispered, "let me put you to bed."

"Only if you come with me," she mumbled. Suddenly her eyes flew wide open as she realized that what she had just said she'd said out loud. "Captain, I didn't mean…"

"Don't start changing on me now, Ro Laren. Be fearless. I have always considered your audaciousness to be one of your better charms even though it still annoys the hell out of me on occasion."

Entering the cabin, he had just used, he placed her on the narrow bunk. He sat down as well on the edge of the mattress, looking down at her. "If I were a Starfleet captain and you were my Starfleet helmsman, my carrying you to your bed would be considered highly irregular not to mention quite improper."

"We no longer are those people."

"True." He brushed strands of her hair away from her face thinking that she possessed a greater beauty than she knew.

"I fell asleep on duty. Are you going to discipline me?"

She sounded contrite, but he suspected otherwise. He smiled, liking the sudden image of what disciplining Ro Laren could entail. "I set the auto pilot and the proximity alarms."

"Then we could have slept together."

These words were not spoken in innocence. He knew it viscerally. "Yes, we could have."

The fingers that had been playing with her hair slowly moved along her cheek, trailing down her neck, until they reached her collar. His other hand seemed to have a sudden need to inventory her buttons, lightly rubbing against the rough fabric of her suit, pressing strongly when he heard her breath quicken. He waited for her to say or do something to stop him. But he also knew that she wouldn't.

"Laren, if for some reason, I find myself forced to stay with Ragner, to be a member of his crew, working with you - and even for the Maquis - for the rest of my life, I find myself thinking that I would not mind such a fate. The Maquis offer freedom - freedom that I have never had before."

"You always were a Starfleet officer at heart even when you were a little boy, weren't you, Jean-Luc? You spent your childhood dreaming of spaceships that one day you would command."

"Not at first. I longed for the stars. But one day I understood that I couldn't have them without becoming an officer. And then I could not conceive of being anything else but an officer in Starfleet when I was a child. I wanted nothing more. I needed nothing more."

"Then you never had a childhood either, just like me."

He was about to speak automatic words of protest when he realized that there was some truth in her words. Between his father and Robert and what they had insisted on taking and keeping from him, the time when he had actually felt like a child had only been a few, innocent early years. Then his dreams had superseded his family's goals. The battles lines had been conceived and his fate had been cast.

"At least I had my granmere and my mama. You lost everyone that cared for you."

"So, what happens if you have to stay?" She looked up into his face, trying to see if the words of his answer would correspond to what his eyes were revealing.

"I could accept this life. I could come to like it here with you, Ro Laren."

"With no regrets?"

"There will always be regrets, Laren. I already have them. There are certain parts of my life that I would not care to lose."

There was one other question she knew that she should ask, but she suddenly found that her courage was lacking. It was enough for now, that in spite of what she'd done, he still liked her.  
His fingers toyed with the closure by her collar that covered the hidden zipper to her mud brown jumpsuit.

"Laren." His voice was low as he leaned over to place a gentle kiss against her temple. "The Starfleet captain would never be permitted to forgive the lieutenant for what she did. But the man…" He kissed her again, moving his lips across her cheek. She opened her mouth against his words, momentarily distracting him with the touch of her tongue.

"What…" she whispered. "What is it that the man and not the captain, would do?"

"There is one thing that the Borg taught me, Laren. And that is how fragile our life, our self-autonomy, really is. I had to learn how to forgive. And if I can learn to forgive myself for all of the heinous crimes that I have committed, I surely can forgive a woman whose only sin was to follow her conscience instead of her captain."

She struggled against the drugging sensation of his touch. "What?"

"I knew what sort of woman and the caliber of officer that you were, Laren. I think that I always knew that you would follow your conscience. That it meant more to you even than your honor. I just never thought that I would be the one who would force you to choose. Your devil's choice is something that I truly regret forcing upon you."

She knew that he meant what he was saying to her. And that the comfort of his words was all that he could offer. She had a place in his heart, but she didn't own it. For now, she would take his body. At least she had that.

"Who's going to pilot the ship if we are occupied?" she asked, sudden mischief lending a drawl to her words.

"You already know that answer to that, unless you'd rather have me leave you and check on the systems?"

The way she kissed him back was her answer. Laren reveled in the power over him that her touching him revealed. Her fingers tightened against his head, as his lips blazed a path across her chest. He focused worshipping her tenderly. She was so close to climaxing from just this caress alone, that it took her several moments to realize that he was shoving her loathsome brown jumpsuit off of her body. Somehow he had unbuttoned and unlocked every closure on her suit without her even noticing. She slid her arms against his shoulders, pressing his head against her shoulder. The she shoved him backwards with a surprising sense of purpose.

It took him a moment to clear his head before he dryly asked, "Is there something you want?"

"You're wearing too many clothes, Jean-Luc."

His smile was warm, almost carefree. "I trust that you'll help me solve that difficulty?"

"Lazy man!"

"I think that you're a rapacious wench and that if I wish to survive, I'd better do as you command."

"I always knew that you were a smart man, Jean-Luc."

He suddenly stilled her hands as they had been searching for and undoing all sorts of things about his clothing. "The way you say my given name, Laren - it's enticing."

"But…" she whispered, sensing that there was something beyond this comment.

He regretted having to speak of matters that were serious. He found himself prizing their idyll moments more than he had initially expected.

"Don't use my given name. Don't call me Jean-Luc. Not until we both are safe. You resurrected the name of Johnny. And that is what you must call me, for both our sakes."

She kept her fears to herself. "Yes, dear."

"Heaven help the man who loves you, Ro Laren…," he whispered, almost to himself.

With a sudden surge of desire that astonished even herself, she shut him up with her kisses, doing her best to obliterate the words he'd just spoken from her memory. But nothing would erase them from her heart.

Their bodies locked together, moving toward delirium.

When she could think, she kept telling herself that their passions would be enough. It had to be enough. They were two diametrically different people coming together for a whole legion of reasons that had little to do with love - only feeling. And perhaps, friendship. Yet, Ro doubted if she would ever have another love that could inspire and incite the intensity of passion that only he could engender. What was happening now to them both, had little to do with reason. And absolutely nothing to do with deceiving the Vorlo captain.

And when this mating was over, Ro seriously considered sabotaging the ship so that it would take them days or weeks to reach Thelka II instead of mere hours.

Very warm, very sated, very tired and very uncomfortable, some time later Ro turned about so that she was resting on her other side, on top of Jean-Luc's bare chest.

"Laren," he warned. He thought he heard her mumble something about knobby knees…

"Yes, master?"

He pinched her fanny for her insubordinate choice of word, though he didn't verbally chastise her. "If we are going to attempt to actually sleep together on this torturous instrument that the   
Vorlos call a bed, you are going to have to stop fidgeting or achieving your rest will not be the desired result."

She propped her chin against his chest, looking at him with a directness of her gaze that was as dangerous in its admiration as it was in it sincerity. "I've slept under worse conditions. And I am sure that you have too."

"Correct. But never willingly."

"All right. I'll leave you to your pillow. Sleep well." She moved as if to leave him. He stopped her, rolling over onto his side, trapping her against the bulkhead.

 

"My ancestors called this spooning," he explained, as he tucked his knees against her derriere, pressing her back gently against his chest. "If we sleep in tandem, we'll have a bit of room together."

"I don't want to know," she mumbled as she felt his steady breath against her nape.

"Sleep," he ordered, in his best captainly voice. She wiggled her hips against his groin. She moved restlessly. "Dammit, Laren, if the sleep command worked on the Borg, why won't it work on you?"

Suddenly feeling like giggling, she countered with, "Wrong race, Johnny. I'm Bajoran."

"You're trouble." She wiggled again. "And a woman..."

"You go to sleep, Johnny."

He did. But before he did, he pressed a kiss against her neck, holding her gently in his arms until she stopped trying to tempt him. He was thinking that he hadn't felt this relaxed - this content - in a very long time. Hours later, even before the proximity alarms had a chance to chime, he just simply knew that they were close to their destination. As carefully as he could, he moved away from the sleeping Laren, and slid out of the bunk. Minutes later, after making due with a sonic shower, he silently dressed in the garb he'd adapted from his days as Galen the pirate when he was kidnapped by Baran. He'd found the suede jerkin and leather boots to be a comfortable yet practical outfit be it for pirate, poet or archaeologist. He mused that if one day, if he ever should be forced to become a Starfleet admiral, he would adopt a new admiral's uniform for himself based on his current mode of dress.

The atmosphere in the cabin changed. She was awake, watching him, even though he'd kept silent, which was not in keeping with her nature.

"We're about two hours away from Thelka," she casually stated. "Should I get dressed?"

"If you'd rather stay abed, you may. I'll wake you before we actually reach orbit."

“You're so kind." She curled her arms about the lone pillow, silently wishing that it was him. "Maybe now I can sleep in peace."

"Not if you dream of me."

He smiled, as he left the cabin, deliberately ignoring the woman muttering quaint Bajoran curses as he left.

They beamed down to the planet, almost three hours later, after gaining orbiting clearance from the Thelkan official government.

Picard let Ro handle the details. She told him that she'd been to this particular planet thrice already, to meet with the Ferengi. She briefed him of the details to their deal that Ragner had neglected to mention.

Walking the streets of the main space port, a city named Ootzey, Picard noticed that almost every person they passed had some sort of weapon, which was usually a disruptor, obviously visible on their person.

"Should we display our phasers more prominently, Ro?" he observed as he passed an individual that closely resembled one of Worf's Holodeck playmates.

"No. They can see I am Bajoran. And I don't think that anyone would believe that a Bajoran woman would wander the streets of a city where Cardassians could be present, and not be heavily armed."

"Agreed."

He looked about, taking in the sights. One of those sights was Ro Laren in her shiny red, metallic, skin tight cat suit. He was noticing the details, on a street that seemed to house nothing but bars, gambling hells and brothels. On a planet that circled a binary sun, the shadows were long in almost every direction. He was momentarily reminded of another of Worf's Holodeck programs - a place called Deadwood, where Deanna, Alexander and Worf liked to play with Data.

"Here." Ro nodded in the direction of a rather elaborate (for the neighborhood) façade to what appeared to be a multi-storied bar, casino and hotel named MUDDER.

Picard wasn't sure if the name reflected the unpaved street in front of the establishment, a misspelled family member's name or a mispronounced word for a capital crime. In any event, he hoped it wasn't a presage for their business dealings.

"What if our Ferengi friends aren't here, Ro?"

Picard cautiously looked about the bar as they stepped over the threshold. The bar was decorated in a banausic manner - totally devoid of anything that would have smacked of originality or artistic value. The noise from the dabo tables, the gambling machines and the drunken patrons was almost deafening. Matters weren't helped by the fact that two different entertainments were being staged in close proximity to each other. It was impossible to tell if the quartet of Andorian sex performers/singers or the Phrygian comedian were any good. For how could they be heard?

Considering that according to the city's time zone, they were only entering early afternoon, Picard idly wondered how raucous the place would be by nightfall.

Ro pushed him in the direction of the bar that seemed to undulate about the room. "Don't order water - not in this place. If you don't want to attract attention, don't order synthehol either. Only Starfleet orders synthehol."

Picard pulled Ro into a tight embrace as a swarm of Nausicaans forced themselves past them. Half-yelling into her ear, he said, "Laren, long before I was a senior office, I was a habitué of dives far worse than this one."

"Really?" She was fascinated by this bit of information. "More so that Riker?"

"If I had to, I could teach Will a few things."

"That I don't doubt - Johnny."

Settling up against the bar, he pulled some credits out of an inner vest pocket and placed them in plain sight in front of the barkeep.

"Tranya," he ordered when the hesheit took their order.

A moment later Ro took a sip from the only part of the rim of her glass that seemed clean. She spat it out. "Ghad - this stuff is worse than the purple lemonade Captain Charrington of the Wellington used to make his officers drink." She flashed him a wicked grin. "That lemonade was the real reason I got myself court-martialed. Anything was better than having to drink that stuff shift after shift and during staff meetings."

Picard took a cautious sip from his glass. He spit it out. "This stuff is either older than both of our ages combined, or it is very, very spoiled."

He turned and focused his sternest glare on the barkeep. When the hesheit didn't respond, Ro flung her glass in the olive drab hermaphroditic creature's direction.

"You're trying to poison us!" she roared.

Someone who looked like a manager type in a glittering pinwheel striped suit quickly stepped up to them. A few angry words on Ro's part, plus the accidental showing of their phasers, sufficed. They were given ale instead. Picard didn't think that he should ask where it had been brewed. It was drinkable even though it was warm. And it was probably as good as they were going to get in this place.

After a few minutes, Ro leaned over and said, "I'll be back before you even miss me."

She was gone, slipping into the crowd, before Picard could question her intent. Not knowing what else to do, and recognizing that he had to be doing something if he intended to occupy bar space, he ordered another couple of ales.

She returned about five minutes later. "DaiMon Behlk should be here shortly." She nodded in the direction of a corridor. "Over there." Picard followed her as they wended their way through a room that was becoming more crowded every minute.

Compared to the main barroom, the corridor was a haven of peace and quiet. Picard kept his guard up, even though he felt like relaxing. He followed Ro, until she stepped into a room that appeared to be the first in a series of connecting suites. The only way that the décor in these rooms could be described was as Early Gaudy Ferengi. Clearly, these rooms were used often by the traders with big lobes.

Picard shuddered as he looked around. He normally refrained from being too judgmental over other race's artistic tastes. But when it came to Ferengi decorators - he never wanted to meet one.

Ro commandeered the most comfortable looking chair in the room, located near a lime green round table with brightly inlaid peacock blue and neon orange tiles.

"Sit, Johnny. The DaiMon likes his clients to be comfortable."

Picard chose an arm chair that was the least bilious color in the room. It also afforded him an excellent view of the doorway opposite Ro.

"What are we buying?" Picard informally asked Ro, considering the probabilities of their conversation being monitored. He was getting used to being observed at all times.

"Mainly medical supplies and some battery packs - all perfectly legal." She didn't have to add that it was merchandise that would soon be in the hands of a people who were considered illegal by quite a few planetary governments.

Picard hoped that she was telling him the truth.

A while later, DaiMon Behlk arrived, flanked by two attendants.

Though his expression didn't alter, Picard inwardly groaned. He knew one of the Ferengi attendants - an odious creature named Qo who had tried to kidnap the metamorph Kamala. He'd yet to meet a Ferengi who had a bad memory especially when it came to lost profits. He had only one choice - attack.

Picard stood and aimed his words at Qo. "I will not deal with a Ferengi who is so foolish that he spoils his profits!"

"What?" Qo looked at Picard in utter disbelief. "You! I don't believe it! DaiMon! DaiMon!" Qo kept squealing.

DaiMon Behlk raised his walking staff. This was enough to silence Qo. "What is happening?" He nodded toward his other attendant. This man now had a disruptor pointed at Jean-Luc's stomach.

Ro pulled out her phaser.

"Who are you?" the DaiMon demanded.

Picard sent a warning glance at Ro before speaking. "I am Jean-Luc Picard. My associates refer to me as Johnny."

Behlk looked at Qo. "He speaks truth?"

Qo babbled, "He speaks truth! He is Starfleet!"

"Incorrect," Picard firmly stated, cutting off Qo. "I've left Starfleet."

"He's a captain!" Qo screeched.

Picard grimaced. He found Ferengi excitability to be a less than attractive racial trait.

"I still am a captain - but not in Starfleet!"

"He works for me and the Maquis, with Captain Ragner," Ro interjected, sounding quite bored with the conversation.

Qo bawled, "She lies!"

Qo didn't quite know what happened next. One moment he was screeching, the next, Ro had the very sharp point of her snickersnee pressed up against his jugular vein. She was no longer seated quietly in the corner.

"Say that again, offal!" Ro calmly ordered.

"You lie!" Qo repeated himself.

Picard had suspected that this Ferengi was not too bright. Even the DaiMon looked surprised at Qo's stupidity. Ro jabbed him.

"She cut me! She cut me with her dagger!" Qo wailed, verging on hysteria.

Ro looked at the DaiMon for permission. "May I silence this unworthy one? His wife counts his credits."

Picard liked Ro's castigation of Qo. She clearly understood the finer points of dealing with Ferengi.

DaiMon Behlk nodded.

"No!" wailed Qo.

Ro socked him in the jaw. He fell at her feet, collapsing into a rather unsightly lump, his lobes quivering. For added emphasis, she poked him with her boot. Satisfied that he wouldn't be making any more noise in the immediate future, Ro returned to her chair.

"As I was saying before we were most rudely interrupted," Ro continued, "Johnny Picard now works for me."

Picard inwardly winced at her choice of names, but he had to admire the way she was adeptly controlling the situation.

"Starfleet's most famous captain is now Maquis?" the DaiMon asked.

"No!" Picard vehemently stated. "There's no profit in idealistic causes," he hastily added before Ro could say something he might be forced to deny.

The DaiMon wasn't satisfied. "Why'd you leave Starfleet, Picard?"

" I crashed my ship," Picard explained. And then he waited. He suspected that when a Ferengi captain lost his ship, the punishments were similar.

"Cost Starfleet a lot," the DaiMon considered.

"I'm a ship's captain, DaiMon Behlk. I am looking for a ship that Starfleet doesn't own. For that, I need money. I need to make a profit."

These words the DaiMon understood. He motioned to Ro. "We deal."

Picard sat back and let Ro negotiate. She was quite good at it. Three rounds of drinks later, the details had been arranged and accurately recorded. They'd be returning to the Adama with the   
correct cargo.

Behlk was about to order drinks to formally seal the deal when Picard spoke up. "I need a banker."

These were the words that every Ferengi prayed to hear a client say. Thrills of delicious pleasure tingled through the DaiMon's earlobes as he thought of all the possibilities. A rogue ex-Starfleet captain with Picard's reputation could make many fortunes in the markets beyond the Federation boundaries. And when that was finished, there were always various empires that would be willing to buy such a man. Behlk shuddered at the thought of such profit. It was almost too much.

"How," the DaiMon gasped, "can I help you?"

"Nagus private bank account number 2893, 2333, 2327, 2363, 2355, 1701." Picard rattled off the series of numbers.

Ro knew that the numbers were stardates and ship registry numbers. Later on, she would learn that the numbers included the registries for the Stargazer and the Enterprise, their commission dates as well as the year that he'd graduated from the Academy.

"What is your command - Johnny?" The DaiMon's voice was as smooth as Rigelian silk.

"I want all the funds in that account transferred into latinum. I want it tonight."

The DaiMon's attendant rapidly fluttered his fingers over his padd. He then showed the results to the DaiMon. The Ferengi considered the figures and then said, "Fifteen percent for a handling fee."

Picard roared with laughter. "You amuse me, DaiMon. One percent."

"Impossible!"

"I know a Ferengi named Quark. I have dealt with him before. He owes my kin latinum." Picard knew that he was stretching the truth a bit when it came to the credits that Quark owed Will   
Riker, but he didn't think that Will would mind. "Quark will be glad to accommodate me for that percentage."

Behlk knew that Quark did have ties to the Federation. He was the only Ferengi who actually had an establishment on a Federation controlled starbase. Though this Picard could be lying, the thought of the potential future profit was too great a temptation to resist. Behlk intuited the 9th rule of Acquisition - Opportunity plus instinct equals profit - and knew that his instincts were telling him something.

"Agreed. One percent."

Picard nodded, pulling out his own padd to compose the contract.

The DaiMon snorted. "Johnny."

"Yes, Behlk?"

"You will have your credits at sunrise."

"I want them tonight."

"Certain properties - they must be liquidated before you get your money. This takes time."

"Tonight."

The DaiMon shook his head. "Then, I will have to loan you the difference from my own monies at fifteen percent plus the one percent."

Before Johnny could further his arguments, Ro intervened, leaning forward, playing with her tassel to the fastener that was very low on the front of her jumpsuit. "A night of gaming and revelry, Johnny?" The tone of her voice was innocent. The look in her eyes was not.

Another few hours more with Ro Laren, uninterrupted, unobserved, didn't sound like such a hardship to Jean-Luc. Besides, he was coming to realize that he was partial to Ro Laren wearing this particular shade of red.

The attendant who had been quiet until now spoke up, suggesting, "DaiMon. Perhaps Captain Picard and Ro Laren could be our guests here at the casino?"

DaiMon concurred. Ro slightly nodded. Jean-Luc assented. The deal was made. Picard was satisfied with the agreement. The DaiMon would not see a credit of profit until Picard signed the proper forms in the morning. Until then, he felt reasonably safe in the company of these Ferengi, at least until daybreak. Getting the latinum safely off the planet would be another matter entirely.

Then Picard glanced at the padd with the preliminary contract that Behlk had given him. He did not reveal his shock at the amount that Behlk had listed. He shoved the padd over to Ro. 

"Daimon Behlk." Picard's voice was polite.

Behlk picked up a beetle off of a dish and crunched it before he glanced at Picard. He hated it when human clients were polite. Humans normally were not naturally polite to Ferengi. Instincts told him that his deal was in danger. "Yes, Captain?"

"I have changed my mind."

"You can't do that!" Behlk quickly protested. "We made a deal." His attendant made a slow move toward his weapon.

Picard spoke quickly. "I agree. It is just that I would like only a portion of the credits in latinum."

Ro suddenly spoke up. "DaiMon Behlk, I hear that you have a rather interesting assortment of space ships in your collection. Captain Picard wants something fast - capable of doing at least Warp Nine, with weaponry appropriate for an ex-Starfleet captain. He has many enemies. He needs a very fast ship."

"What you wish will cost much."

"Johnny can afford it," Ro casually remarked. "Right, Johnny?"

Picard nodded, acting rather bored with the proceedings.

"Oh, and throw in a working cloaking device. I've always wanted to own one," Ro added.

"Such devices are illegal, Ro Laren," the DaiMon protested.

"I don't see any Federation constabulary around here, do you, Ro?" Picard hid his approval of her outlandish behavior behind a disaffected manner.

"DaiMon, you stand to make a great deal more profit by selling us one of your used spaceships than you do by just serving as a courier for the latinum bars. Which do you prefer?" Ro wrangled.

The DaiMon scratched an ear lobe. "I might know of an available ship. I will tell you in the morning," the DaiMon commented, pretending to have to consider his choices. He looked down at the still-unconscious Qo. "I think I have the very ship." With that, the Ferengi left the room. His attendant dragged Qo behind him.

Picard stifled a laugh.

"Why do I have the feeling that Qo might have just lost his interstellar transportation?" Ro innocently asked.

"Laren…"

Ro laughed for him, pleased with the way the deals had turned out.

"Why pay for transportation when you can afford to buy your own, Captain?" she teased. "But somehow, I never thought of you as a recipient of capitalist ventures."

This time Picard did laugh out loud in amusement. "I believe that I must one day thank Mr. Data for the substantial totals of my Ferengi bank accounts. At the time I received the settlements, I gave him orders to invest the money as he saw fit. Apparently, Mr. Data had more of a Ferengi capitalistic programming in his psyche than I had expected." Picard stood, stretching muscles that had become tense during the negotiations.

"And a flare for doing business," Ro added. "I'm sure that when you ordered Data to handle your credits, he just consulted every word ever written about the subject. And then he followed the few Ferengi Rules of Acquisition that do not violate Asimov's Laws of Robotics or Starfleet's Code of Ethics."

Picard nodded. "You're right, of course." He leaned his weight on his hands against the table, staring at Ro, naturally conveying his most severe captain's expression. "Now, tell me, Ro. Why do you want a cloaking device on my ship?"

"Surely we can share it?"

"And with whom did you intend to share it?"

"I don't suppose you'd believe that I have a deep, unquenchable scientific curiosity about cloaking devices?"

"Only Data could make that statement and expect me to believe him, Ro." Picard amended himself. "… And possibly Commander LaForge."

"Well then, Jean-Luc. What are you going to do with a cloaking device?"

"I believe that I can do anything with it that I damn well please, Laren. I will own it. And if it can help us get back to the Adama without being attacked by pirates who might think that I am transporting a large treasure, I will use it."

"And afterwards?"

He looked at her, knowing that his answer would reveal a great deal about his true intentions. "I would prefer not to answer that question, Ro Laren."

She nodded, accepting his words at face value. He was trying to be honest with her. His words only confirmed a deep-rooted suspicion that even though he was not currently a member of Starfleet, in his heart he was still an officer.

"Laren?" His voice was mild, controlled.

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"After I reach Gaudete II, I will have no need for a cloaking device in Federation space."

She didn't know what to say to him as his offer either shot her theories all to hell - or proved them beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Yes, Laren?"

"When was the last time you had any fun?" She challenged him.

"Oddly enough, someone mentioned fun to me not that long ago. That being did have a point." He walked over to her and offered her his arm. "Shall we go play, Laren?"

"Why Captain, you know the rules of gambling? Or do you only play poker with the admirals?"

"You've never seen me play poker, Laren. The only time I did play on board the Enterprise D, I cleaned Will Riker out."

"Sorry I missed that. He was always such an arrogant poker player. Ah well, maybe one day I'll get the chance to take him down a peg or two - again." She grinned. "We'll start with the poker tables, Captain Picard, and I'll see if you're capable of bluffing this Bajoran." She gaily added, as they left the conference room, "Come to think of it, I believe I have observed your poker playing skills several times in the past."

"Laren, do you have any credits? I can access my secondary account if you wish."

"Well, I do have a little money. And if I lose that, we can always graduate to strip poker."

He smiled at her audaciousness. He was becoming accustomed to it. "Considering everything, you know you displayed remarkable restraint on board the Enterprise. There were actually a few minutes during each daily watch, when I didn't consider accusing you of insubordination."

"Quite noble of you, Captain."

He smiled. "We'll only play strip poker if it is just between the two of us in our suite, Laren," he cautioned. "I've played a few games of strip dabo with Nausicaans in my misspent youth. That's a mistake that I won't repeat tonight."

Laren shuddered at the thought. "I always knew you were a wise man, Jean…nee." She corrected herself as they neared the main door to the gambling area, just in case anyone might be eavesdropping.

She didn't realize that her precautions were unnecessary. Qo, when he regained consciousness would sell the news of Jean-Luc Picard's presence on Thelka to the first information broker. By the dawn of the next day, he would be bartering it for drinks.

It would be a night that the Thelkans would talk about in the years to come. Even if there hadn't been multiple rumors about the stranger's identity, his astonishing luck coupled with his well-honed card playing skills was the stuff of high-flown tale-making.

Ro didn't mind tagging along, for though her winnings wouldn't match Jean-Luc's latinum purse, she was having one of the grandest nights of her life as well. Most of the time, she simply clung to the arm of a gambler who saw no reason why he shouldn't embrace Lady Luck with every risk he took. Riker would not have recognized his captain.

In the future, when Ro Laren would describe this night, she would often use the word reckless to describe Jean-Luc's behavior. She would consider his actions to be most unusual for a man she had heretofore thought was the most reserved, stiff-necked officer in Starfleet. What Ro didn't realize was that there had once been a time, many years ago, when his oldest of surviving friends would have called Johnny's reckless behavior typical.

He'd acquired some wisdom since those days. But tonight was a night for ignoring certain restricting rules. It had been a long time since Jean-Luc had cut loose with a beautiful woman in his arms, and surrendered to his own conceits.

After winning at poker, gul cul, dabo, and even fizz bin - which he had to teach the dealers for apparently these card sharks had never encountered Starfleet captains before - Jean-Luc decided to make the biggest gamble of all - to see if he could keep a Ferengi DaiMon honest.

And when they had won more than was prudent, Picard and Ro went outdoors to see a sky colored deep emerald green with blood red rays heralding the imminent coming of the dawn. They strolled a while, away from the noise, smoke and lights, ignoring the blatant temptations that the establishments offered, to discover a peaceful section of Ootzey that was not polluted by its well-advertised sins. Only a few kilometers from the more traveled parts of town, they found a hill where they could watch the sun come up, sitting on a wobbly park bench.

The landscape was brown and sparse with little standing vegetation. Dark green to black uncut grass stood by jutting rocks near the trickling waters of a weakly flowing stream. It wasn't paradise, but it was an area of respite.

"It's been a long time since I've seen a planet sunrise, Laren." Picard's observation was casual. Neutral in its tone.

"It's not the same when you're living on board ship, and you watch it from a duty station."

"True. Sometimes, you see so many sunrises during a shift, it becomes…"

"Commonplace?" Ro suggested.

"Ignored." He considered his own feelings at this particular dawn. "I always promised myself that I would never become so occupied with being a captain that I would neglect the things of life that touch our souls. I would find time for sunrises. And yet I did forget. Too often."

She saw something in the coming dawn that disturbed her. "There are some sunrises I can never forget." She remembered other dawns. Her voice became very soft as she said, "It was different in the camps.

He became quite still when he heard the emotions behind her words.

"My Father…" Her voice cracked. "Before he died, my father used to say that every sunrise was the Prophet's promise of a new day - someday."

"What happened to you, to Bajor - all that pain…" He stood moving abruptly away.

"What did happen to you, Jean-Luc?" she whispered. "I only heard rumors about Cardassian prisoners when I was in San Francisco. Nothing official."

He turned and looked at her, the agony of having seen too much was reflected in his eyes.

"I learned I could forgive the Borg. They were only being what they were assimilated into being. They could not change their programming."

"Until the Borg met you and LaForge."

"I never considered myself to be a maker of kings, Ro. Neither did I ever think that I would become the catalyst for a race's evolution. Yet, both happened."

"So, what did the Cardassians do?"

He sensed the bravery behind her words. It took a lot of courage to ask him. He knew that at times, she forgot what he now was and was at times still threatened by what he had once been.  
"Senseless crimes and base instincts I can almost understand. But when there is a civilized intelligence behind evil acts, then is the crime beyond my comprehension. The Cardassians taught me how to hate, Ro Laren."

"What? Her voice was quiet as she shared his suffering. She was beginning to learn the names of the demons that haunted his dreams. They were similar to her own…

"There was a Gul named Madred. Educated, cultured, intelligent, in possession of enough social graces to even introduce me to his young daughter when I was his prisoner. We were much alike in some respects. Another place…"

"You get used to cruel irony when you're a Bajoran, Jean-Luc."

He didn't hear her words. Instead, the suppressed anger in his soul spoke of what had happened. He had only exposed some of his feelings to Deanna Troi.

"Gul Madred tortured me. And when he was done crushing out of me all that I knew that I was, he toyed with me - simply for the pleasure of doing it."

Ro Laren searched her chaotic thoughts, as she tried to find the right words to say. "After being a guest of the Cardassians, it's hard to return to a normal life, Jean-Luc." She moved next to him, cautiously resting her hand on his shoulder, as a sign of sympathetic understanding. "There is no shame in surviving."

"I never said I was ashamed."

"But you have a lot of anger - and fear that it will happen again."

Almost to himself, he muttered, "But it did happen again…"

Somewhere off in the distance, he heard the sound of a space ship taking off. For a moment it distracted him. But, she was still waiting for him to speak. He added the word tenacious to his ever-growing list of Ro's personality traits.

"Before the Borg, I naively thought that I was master of my universe, Laren." He took her right hand and carried it up to his lips, pressing a kiss against her palm. Then he brought it to rest against his chest.

"No one really is, Jean-Luc. At least I found that out when I was young." She cynically reflected upon her past. "I learned something when I left the Enterprise - captain."

"What, lieutenant?"

"That I could not live without my sense of honor. I had to find it again. Otherwise, I would merely be existing."

"I tried to tell Gul Madred that after I met Jill Orra, his daughter. She was a little girl. Lovely. I believe I suffered more with the thought of her growing up hating as her father than I did with my own pain." His voice changed. He sounded almost resentful. "I'm angry, Ro. At Madred. At myself." He took a breath then said, "At you." 

He moved back needing to be away from Ro both mentally and physically. Ro was getting too close to him.

"Anger. Fear. They are two sides to the same coin, Johnny."

"You are not Counselor Troi. You shouldn't even try to be." His judgment was harsh and unwarranted.

She ignored his foul mood. "True. But I've lived through some of what you have, Johnny. I've seen too much, too. And I do know how overwhelming the fear is that hides beneath the anger   
and the pain. And you of all people don't like living with that fear. Doesn't fit your image."

"Oh?" He didn't disguise his sarcasm, now. "Being devastated when you betrayed me doesn't fit my image either, Ro Laren. I think that even Commander Riker thought my response was   
unreasonable and completely out of character for the great Captain Picard."

She had a feeling that he was not accustomed to speaking like this. She didn't know if she was the catalyst for the best or the worst in him.

"And that is the real reason why you didn't contradict Riker's report to Starfleet. You knew that you were off-balance. And you're too honorable a man to condemn someone." She wryly added, "At least publicly to condemn someone when you suspect your own motives."

He detested the memories she was stirring; the truths she was discovering. Such knowledge did not fit into his personal sense of image. But it would have been against his nature not to acknowledge that her perspicacious assumptions had some accuracy.

"What I felt was based on the thought that you were the one who was doing what was right, Ro Laren." He looked up at the stars, wanting them to share some of the blame. "It didn't matter, all of those peace treaties and civilized negotiations between the Cardassians and the Federation. I was angry because I knew that you were the one with the rightness of it. My reason however, was obligated to follow all of the Federation's rules, decisions and orders." He turned to face her, holding her by the shoulders, confessing, "My superiors told me that we have a peace treaty with the Cardassians. But my mind knows them as my enemy." He sounded almost tormented as he added, "I don't know if my instincts are correct - or if it is because of what I still harbor in my soul toward Gul Madred."

She suddenly began to understand. "It's not what Gul Madred or even the Borg did to you that disturbs you so much." She whispered more to herself than to him, '"It's the fact that you're doubting yourself. And that because of this self-doubt, everything that has happened since you think is your fault."

"How can I be a captain if I can no longer trust my own judgment?" 

"By the prophets… you trusted me and then I betrayed you. It wasn't that I broke my oath to Starfleet that made you so angry. It's because what I did made you question everything that you are… All your decisions…" Horror filled her soul as she realized the extent of the repercussions to her crime. "I broke you - broke your confidence."

There was nothing more to be said. She turned away from him, stumbling over to some small quartz boulders, an outcropping by the water's bank. She leaned against the cold stone,   
suddenly feeling the early morning's coldness stabbing into her heart. Her voice was ragged as she whispered, "Even what happened to the Enterprise…" She lifted her head purblindly staring   
away from the light. "I'm surprised that you didn't want me dead."

Minutes passed before he responded to her words. "Not dead. Though thoughts of you held captive in my brig occupied my nights."

She turned her head swiftly, to stare at him, knowing that he was speaking of all the truths between them now.

He took a deep breath and admitted, "I blamed you for every doubt. And that if I hadn't had those doubts, the Enterprise would not have crashed."

The sun was breaching the horizon now. Each pale ray gaining strength as the time passed. But it brought no warmth to them.

"I wasn't on board when she crashed. But I should have been. Instead, I was following my instincts…" His voice was bitter. "My untrustworthy instincts…"

He straightened up as if he mentally shook himself. “I must do something.”

She thought she knew what he meant. "I won't help you destroy the Maquis."

He froze at her words. Then shook his head. "Agreed. Another wrong would not solve anything, Ro Laren."

She turned around to rest against the rocks, needing their support. "But, you are right. You must do something. If I ever get any proof that the Obsidian Order and not the so-called ‘Cardie Renegades’, are the ones attacking the border planets, I will give it to you, Jean-Luc."

"No. Give the information to someone in Starfleet, Ro."

She thought about those she still knew in Starfleet and softly whispered, "There's someone at DS9. I don't know who. But once in a while, the Maquis get word of a questionable cargo or suspicious passengers."

"Miles and Keiko O'Brien are there," Picard thoughtfully stated. He'd used Chief O'Brien in the past as a courier.

"I know. Keiko's joined an expedition on Bajor. Every once in a while, I get a sub-space message from her."

"O'Brien used to write to me and to some of my officers on board the Enterprise. He seemed to feel that I should know more about the Bajoran situation."

"Miles fought in the wars."

"We all did, Ro."

"But the real battle didn't start until after the politicians said that the war was over."

"History does repeat itself," he cynically added, deciding that he'd had enough of this conversation. He did not care for public introspection, and especially introspection with a female whose relationship to him was tenuous at best. He glanced over at her. He had always believed that Ro Laren's Bajoran Bitch image had been an act of self-defense. But this mask had also disguised a bright mind that understood far more than she ever revealed. This unexpected time with her had shown him a Ro Laren he had never suspected existed, though he had a suspicion that Guinan had known.

"Now what?" She whispered it more as a question to herself than to him. She had sensed a stiffening to his stance, thinking that he thought that he'd confessed too much to her.

He didn't say anything to her for a long while. He sought to regain some control over his thoughts and emotions. Blaming others for his troubles was one character flaw he usually avoided.

"LaBarre."

The way he said it - she was startled by the abrupt change in his mood. He almost sounded as if he had reached some sort of decision.

She tried to bluff - to hide her fears. "What's that? The only gambling hell we missed on main street?"

"It's a village in France. My family comes from there." The way he spoke revealed nothing to her.

"Hard to imagine you as just a village boy," she weakly jested.

"I never was. I always had my sights set on the stars.

She waited. There had to be a reason as to why he'd mentioned his home.

He turned his head to study her, noting the flickering of lights from some sort of insect bioluminescent source swarming near her by the water. He recognized that in his mind he was still waging war with himself over her. Something glinted at the corner of her eye. He suspected that they were unshed tears.

"Laren, come back with me."

"What did you say?" She didn't disguise her disbelief over his words. She must have misheard him.

"My brother Robert. He died recently in a fire along with his son. I've been thinking about returning, to help his wife with the family winery. You could come back to Earth with me. As I said a   
while ago, you aren't a likely candidate for reinstatement in Starfleet, but I think that I still have enough influence that if you wanted to go back to Earth, you could."

"You really think that I won't be arrested?"

"Oh, you'll be arrested, but I'll see to it that you won't be sent back to prison."

"You are asking me to go back to Earth with you?" He had borne burdens even greater than she had previously suspected. Perhaps this had addled his common sense. "What would I do there?"

Still, he said nothing.

She forged on. "I - I'm sorry about your family. Were they your only family?"

"My sister-in-law Marie is the only living family that I have left. She is a rare woman."

"She'd probably hate me. I don't get along too well with most women, especially if it's someone you'd call rare."

"Ro, you don't get along too well with most anyone," he observed, somehow finding the spirit to actually tease her again.

"Even you?"

"Yes."

"I'd noticed."

"My father always wanted me to be a vintner when I was growing up. Now, I am actually considering fulfilling his wishes."

"You're not exactly a farmer type, Jean-Luc."

"I actually liked working with the vines when I was young. It was just never my life's ambition, then. Now, it sounds like the perfect respite for me. For a while, at least."

“And why would you want me there?"

"For your botanical knowledge, of course."

"You think I know anything about growing grapes?"

"I know that after you were reassigned from the Enterprise, you were seriously involved with several gardening projects and botanical experiments back on Earth."

"You spied on me when I was at the Academy?"

"Yes." He wondered if he was about to see the return of her near-legendary temper over this admission.

Instead, she laughed. "You kept track of my vegetable garden! Those reports must have been riveting. How many types of tomatoes did I grow?"

"I don't know, but I can always ask Mr. Data, if you really wish that information.?"

"You discussed me with the crew?" Suddenly, there was an icy edge to her voice.

"Only the senior officers. Riker was my personnel officer. I had to ask him if he wanted you back."

"You're lucky that I'm remembering that I was in a good mood from having won so much money tonight. Good thing you have your uses on occasion, Jean-Luc. Otherwise, I'd have let Ragner   
flame your ass."

"Thank you for your compliment."

She wasn't going to be diverted. "You interfered with my life."

"Yes. I'm sorry that I did. But at the time, I thought I was doing what was best for you."

"And look how that turned out." The noises she made was somewhat derisive, and quite rude sounding. "One of these days you're going to have to get over your compulsion to mess with other people's lives, Jean-Luc."

"I'm trying, Laren."

"Yeah, I've noticed. That's why you promised to go back for Mela. Otherwise, you'd be outta here, right?"

He sighed wearily confessing, "All I wanted was to do some work on Gaudete II. And have pleasant archaeological discourses with a Vulcan named Storal whose writings I respected. Perhaps I just even wanted to dig around a bit. Nothing complicated. I sought a simple life for a change."

"Instead you got the Ferengi, Vorlos, a very pregnant Maquis and me. You're just one lucky man, Jean-Luc Picard."

"I used to think that I was." He leaned closer to her. "I have a suspicion as to where I went wrong." And then he kissed her. For the first time, it felt comfortable between them. The passion would return later. Right now, it was the companionship he was finding surprisingly agreeable.

Some sort of ship roared overhead disrupting their embrace. "I suppose that DaiMon Behlk is returning? Or is he departing with my latinum?" Picard suggested.

"Ragner has dealt with Behlk before. He won't cross the Vorlo's agents after all this time. Behlk knows all about Ragner's nasty temper and his thirst for getting even."

"Ro, why did Ragner send you - send us - here? Why didn't he come himself?"

"The Thelkans. They don't like Ragner. There are quite a few planets that do not like our Captain Ragner."

"Oh?"

"The Thelkans would like to vaporize him if he ever gives the Thelkans the opportunity. And the Thelkans wouldn't mind confiscating his ship as well. I think they've been disputing who the legal owner is of the Adama for years. If the rumors I've heard are correct, Ragner borrowed the Adama and never returned it."

"Yet, they still are willing to deal with Ragner's agents?"

"The Thelkans may not be as profit oriented as the Ferengi, but they still send their kids to the Ferengi schools of economics."

Picard shook his head in disbelief. “I do not understand the rationale behind the profit motive."

"Considering that you won enough latinum tonight to pay for your new spaceship, that's an odd statement for you to make."

"Some of the tables were fixed."

"I'm surprised that you noticed."

"Ro," he suddenly turned quite pompous. "I would not have considered myself to be an officer and a gentleman if I had not learned in my youth how to tamper with dabo tables and deal from   
the bottom of the deck."

"You - proud of cheating?"

"I learned how not to be cheated. Besides, I've always been fascinated with the workings of the criminal mind." He smiled, remembering, "My father may not have wanted me to be in Starfleet, but he also didn't want me to fall victim to all of the temptations that a cadet faces. He saw to it that I gained some practical knowledge. Of course, he'd never considered the possibility of playing poker with a telepath. But that is another story." He looked in the direction of the gambling district. "What I don't understand is why they were letting me win at dabo."

"I've an idea why, but I don't think that you will want to hear it."

"When has my displeasure ever stopped you before, Ro?"

"Somehow, I think that the Thelkans found out who you really are, Jean-Luc Picard."

"And?"

"And the prospect of having you as a repeat customer must have appealed to some of them. DaiMon Behlk liked the possibility himself."

"I find I have one regret, Laren."

"What?"

"That I won't be there to see Admiral Nechayev's expression when she gets the report on my luck at the dabo tables."

Not that their prior conversations hadn't been serious, but his words concerned her. "Starfleet has…" She didn't want to use the word spy to describe Starfleet's activities.

He knew why she hesitated. "I believe some reports make reference to intelligence gathering operations."

"So, there are spies in the DMZ."

"Did you really think that there wouldn't be? Perhaps some are just like Keiko sending a friend a letter that sometimes contains information."

"I never said that Keiko did that."

"Keiko is a civilian. I doubt if she'd consider gossiping to a friend to be a morally wrong action." He kissed Ro briefly and then turned to face the bright lights in the distance. "Besides, Ro, you're forgetting. I'm no longer a Starfleet officer."

"Tell me the truth, Jean-Luc."

He paused, considering her words before he took her hand, tugging her slowly in the direction of the lights. "The meaning of truth is a question you really should be asking Data, Laren."  
"I never realized that you had this side to your personality, Jean-Luc."

"And that is?" he warily asked. He was learning just how obstinate she could be.

"Evasive." She didn't call him a coward but he suspected that was what she really meant to say.

"You still think I'm a Federation spy?"

"No."

"Then what, Ro?"

She stopped moving, squarely facing him, her hands on his hips, bravely defiant. "Did you quit Starfleet? Or did Starfleet kick you out?"

"Why does it matter?"

She knew that if she yelled at him, it would greatly relieve her frustrations, since he didn't seem inclined to offer the better tension releaser of his lovemaking during what was left of their night of revelry. However, one didn't have to be an officer under Jean-Luc's command to know that hollering at him was not a good idea. She considered his words. "Starfleet kicked you out."

"Sort of."

"And you let them?"

"At the time, Ro, I didn't feel inclined to argue with them."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You didn't fight for your ship."

"What ship? I was a captain without a ship, Ro. And I was not about to be offered another one by the Admiralty."

"I don't believe that you'd just give up."

"Ro, there is more to my life than being a starship captain. Stop trying to annoy me. One day, I may decide to return and seek another command. But, not now. I have other things to do. I did not just give up."

"You just merely resigned yourself to your fate."

"I chose not to fight at that time. If there is one thing that I have learned it is when to pick ones' fight or when to retreat."

"Good. Well, if you're not busy then there is no reason why you can't join the Maquis."

"I will not join the Maquis."

"Not ever, Jean-Luc?"

"I care not to speak in absolutes."

"Good." And then she was grinning broadly, wickedly.

"What?" He was wary now. He was understanding how her mind worked.

"You'd make one hell of an impartial negotiator."

One more time she had said what he wasn't expecting. "Meaning?"

"Starfleet would trust you. The Maquis would accept you conditionally. The Bajorans consider you to be an honorable man. Hell, even some of the Cardassians would respect your word. I can't think of anyone in the galaxy who has a better chance of negotiating a solution to the problems with the DMZ than you, Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

He had to force himself not to say the automatic words of denial that came to him. Aside from his surprise at her words, he was also somewhat flattered by her confidence in him. Though the odds were slight that what she was envisioning would ever happen. The mere idea that she even thought of him in this light touched him.

She had given him something to think about.

"Laren, until that miracle happens, what shall we do?"

She could think of several possible jobs. But there was one task she'd had on her mind for a while. Turning, she put both her arms about his waist, hugging him tightly. Then she kissed him.  
After a while, Picard broke the passionate embrace because although he'd instigated al fresco lovemaking on occasion in his past, this unremarkable park was not the proper place for their passion.

"I have never really properly thanked you for saving my life, have I? I've only said a few words, and done nothing to express my gratitude."

"Once we settle on buying a ship, you could properly thank me," she suggested.

"Mon Dieu, you're trouble and insatiable…"

He kissed her again. The passion of this kiss implied something beyond the physical to Ro. And she couldn't help but like it.

Then she thought of something. She raised her head. Deviltry was shining behind her look. She felt that he was about as hot and bothered by their kissing as she was.

"Jean-Luc, how are you going to express your gratitude if you're on board your ship, and I'm stuck on the Starbuck?"

tbc


	5. Menage a Troi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "MENAGE A TROI" Beverly, Nella and Vash join forces. Lwaxana finally gets her wish. Picard throws Ro in the brig. And Deanna gets the last word. Things do get a bit steamy.

PART 5: Menage a Troi

 

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Beverly looked at herself in the mirror and decided that her new style of her hair, pulled back and plaited, suited her. She then got dressed putting on tan slacks and a matching blouse. There were numerous pockets and compartments to both pieces of clothing, all smartly trimmed in azure. With a matching blue kerchief about her neck, and short leather half-boots, she thought she could present herself as a suitable archaeologist's assistant.

She nervously glanced toward the front of her shuttlecraft, which was currently on autopilot. She was not quite an hour's travel time from landing on Gaudete II. And then, she hoped that Jean-Luc would consider her arrival to be a most pleasant surprise.

She debated about spraying herself with some cologne, but decided to wait until she learned about the local biting insects and what attracted them.

Then she figured what the hell, and put some of her favorite scent on her wrists and neck.

She'd done a lot of thinking since Jean-Luc had left. And she'd finally come to the conclusion that her life was better with him than without him. Life on board the Barton together, was going to be full of complications, but if he loved her even only half as much as she loved him, they'd survive.

Besides, there was a certain portion of her soul that liked the idea of being a captain over Jean-Luc Picard for a change.

She resumed piloting her craft, the B. J. Hunnicut. She had managed to reach Gaudete II only days after she'd applied for and received a thirty-day shore leave. Having hitched a ride on the U.S.S. Sutherland which patrolled this sector of the galaxy, they'd dropped her and her shuttle off only a few light years away from her destination. She used five days to make the same journey that had taken Jean-Luc weeks to travel as a civilian.

And now she was going to see him again, and tell him what was in her heart. She was edgy with excitement and anticipation.

After guiding her craft to a very smooth landing on what appeared to be some sort of animal pasture near the site, and hoping that Jean-Luc was somewhere nearby admiring the unknown pilot's skill, she re-checked her image in the mirror, then stepped out onto Gaudete II.

Her first impression of Gaudete II was that it was green. Deep blue-grass grew over the sloping hillsides. Short brackish green shrub-like trees dotted the perimeter of the archaeology site which extended into the hillside where she thought she saw some cave entrances. The deep blue clear sky had green streaks with celadon colored cumulus clouds. It was sort of pretty. The sun was near the horizon. Beverly wasn't sure if it was going up or down. She hadn't noticed when she was orbiting. She'd have to ask.

A tall, angular elderly Vulcan gracefully walked over to her from one of the huts nestled against the sloping hillside. These pre-fabricated structures were flanking what appeared to be the main site of the dig. His amber to brown robes flapped slightly about him.

"I am Dr. Storal. Who are you?" He observed that the shuttlecraft bore Starfleet registry, but the woman descending from it was dressed as a civilian.

"How do you do, Dr. Storal. I am Dr. Beverly Crusher."

Storal cast a direct look at the Starfleet insignia on the side of the craft. "I did not request a doctor. Why are you here?"

Before she could respond, a very loud voice announced another's presence. "Thank the gods that you're here!"

Both Storal and Beverly turned to look in the direction of the noise.

"Beverly!"

"Vash!"

Beverly's eyes narrowed as her expectant mood abruptly changed. She began to consider the possibility that Jean-Luc was a two-timing, low-down liar of a lothario. She knew that he had specifically told her that Vash was not going to be here with him. However, she knew enough about Vash's character, or lack thereof, to give Jean-Luc a wide margin of doubt before she lambasted him.

"Where is Jean-Luc?" both women asked simultaneously.

For an instant, there was dead silence. All of Beverly's threatening anger dissipated when the importance of Vash's words were understood.

"He's not here?" Beverly yelled at Vash.

"Are you referring to Picard?" Storal asked.

"Yes. What happened to him?" Beverly addressed the Vulcan.

"I thought to surprise him when I came here, but he never showed up." Vash raised an eyebrow, refraining from mentioning the fact that she had the suspicion that Beverly had been planning on doing the exact same thing.

"Well…" Beverly looked over at the Vulcan. "I guess I'd better find out what happened to him. Where are your communications?"

"We've got only the usual," Vash quickly said. "Gaudete II doesn't exactly have a thriving interstellar space port. There's only a few outposts on the southern hemisphere's continents. We're pretty much left alone up here except for a few terrafarmers."

"That's all well and good Vash. But when was the last time that you have heard from Captain Picard?"

"I haven't. Heard, that is." Vash stared at Storal. "And he claims that he never even got my communiqués about Jean-Luc coming in the first place."

Beverly whirled around and started back toward her shuttlecraft.

Vash caught up with her. "What are you doing?"

"My shuttlecraft is Starfleet issue. I should have a better comm system than you do."

"I didn't know that stealing shuttlecrafts was one of your many talents, Doctor."

"This shuttlecraft is mine, Vash."

"Last time I said that I nearly got ten months in jail."

Beverly ignored Vash as she went inside and sat down at her comm panel.

"Who are you calling?" Vash climbed into the craft after her.

"I am a full commander in Starfleet, Vash. I have a few privileges that civilians don't have." Moments later she found herself in contact with her home system on Caldos.

"Damn."

"Run out of privileges, Beverly?" Vash innocently asked. Though Vash did privately admit that it had only taken Beverly a few minutes to get access to communication channels that the ordinary average citizen would have taken hours to try and gain.

"My home computer. It's not communicating."

Vash eyed the message I.D. in the corner of the screen. "You live on Caldos?"

"Yes. I have a house there."

Vash's smile became a bit strained as she commented, "Jean-Luc was living on Caldos when I contacted him about this dig."

"I know." Beverly didn't say anything more because she knew that it would annoy the hell out of Vash. Instead, she started working to try and get ahold of someone that could help her find Jean-Luc.

Vash couldn't let the matter drop. "Jean-Luc was living with you when he knew that he was coming here to Gaudete to join me?"

Beverly looked over at Vash who had claimed the spare console chair. "I was under the impression that you would not be here when Captain Picard arrived."

"Well, that may be what I told him." On Beverly's accusatory look Vash rapidly explained, "But he knew I was lying. He knows I always lie to him."

"Yes. Jean-Luc told me in the past how great a liar you are."

"Did Jean-Luc mention everything else that I'm great at?"

"No. I got the impression that lying was it."

Vash glared at Beverly, but before she could say something, Beverly's screen lit up.

Almost twenty minutes later, Beverly was cursing. "Riker's on leave, Geordi's gone off with Dr. Brahms, and Data's not in his quarters."

"Why do I get the feeling that you don't have Jean-Luc's itinerary."

"I do."

Vash waited. "And?"

"It's on a chip that isn't communicating with my computer."

"So how do we go about getting Jean-Luc's route short of going back to Caldos? Any neighbors you can call?"

"Well, there is Ruby MacPherson, but considering that she's still stuck in the 19th century of Earth, technologically speaking that is, she's a last resort."

"Who mapped out Jean-Luc's trip?"

"Someone at Starfleet Command, Earth."

"Well, move over, Beverly. When it comes to getting information out of Starfleet Command that the public is not supposed to have access to, I think I'm better at it than you are."

"I don't know about that. Have Jean-Luc tell you about the time he almost had me court-martialed for being too nosy."

"Maybe there is hope for you if you can get Jean-Luc mad enough to want to put you behind bars."

"I'm sure that he's felt that way about you many times."

"It arouses him." Vash smugly smiled.

Beverly ignored that statement.

Minutes later Vash let loose a string of invectitudes that Beverly reluctantly found quite innovative.

"That damn Vulcan! How dare he accuse me of stealing Starfleet comm channels!"

"I don't think that Ensign Steck believed I was a captain. Something about the access codes that you tried to use must have made him suspicious. It didn't help matters when you lied about being Admiral Hansen's widow."

"The man's been dead for years! How could I know that a Vulcan ensign kept track of Starfleet gossip about late officer's spouses. It's worked before!"

"Well, it didn't work today."

"Now what do we do?"

Beverly suddenly stopped being irritated with Vash. She had a greater concern to worry about. "I find Data. He's the only one on Earth with enough rank to get what we need from Steck."

Half an hour later Beverly finally found someone awake at the grad student housing where Data kept his rooms. A bleary-eyed Michael O'Leary answered the comm summons.

"Sure I know the 'droid," the man mumbled.

"Do you know where he is?"

"Lady, it's three a.m. in the morning! I just got in from a gig, and I've had a couple of pints besides. I don't feel like pounding on his door."

"We already tried that. He's not there. Mr. O'Leary, I'm calling off-planet so I'm sorry that I didn't notice the time. However, this is an emergency. I need to talk to Data right away."  
Vash whispered to Beverly, "Do you know what he's talking about?"

Beverly nodded. She'd explain to Vash later that keeping company with a musician like Will Riker had taught her all about late night gigs and bar room behavior.

O'Leary looked at the two ladies on his monitor. "I don't get it."

"What's that, Mr. O'Leary?"

"Why that machine keeps getting all the beautiful babes."

Vash and Beverly looked at each other.

"Explain," Beverly ordered in her best no-nonsense CMO's voice.

"He's probably with his girlfriend. A real good lookin' lady." He eyed Beverly. "That thing seems to like red heads."

Beverly filed away her surprise at Data's behavior for later. Right now she needed to get some answers.

"Do you have any idea where he is, Mr. O'Leary?"

"No. But whenever he goes to visit the woman, he takes his cat. Maybe I should get a pussycat…"

Beverly groaned.

Vash tried something else. "Michael O'Leary, isn't it?" A little sultry heat colored her voice as she drawled, "You're a musician?"

"Yeah."

"Well, when we're done fighting Data, I have to come to Earth on business. I'd like to see how well you play your instrument."

Beverly bit her lip in order not to groan out loud at this statement from Vash. The amazing thing was that it worked.

""Now, if you could just tell me how Data goes to visit his girlfriend? Does he take surface transport? A shuttlecraft? What? Surely, you've noticed. He's a little too whitey-faced not to observe. Especially when he's carrying his cat."

"You his girlfriend?"

"No. His mechanic. Once I settle my business with Data though, I could be looking for a man. I just finished off my last lover."

"I bet he died happy."

Vash's grin was quite suggestive. "He did."

Beverly interjected, "Do you know how Data goes about?"

"Yeah. He used the transporter. What else? You Starfleet types can afford to use it just to go around the block."

Vash whispered to Beverly, "Why would anyone want to use a transporter to go around the block?"

Beverly ignored Vash, concentrating on O'Leary's statement. "Are you saying that Data used a Starfleet transporter to travel?" 

"Guess so. I didn't see him walking down the block in the rain to go to the public transporter stations like the rest of us. All he has to do is push that fancy comm badge of his."

"Thank you, Mr. O'Leary!" Beverly happily said. She moved to shut down the link.

Vash stopped her. "Don't be so hasty, Bev. Mr. O'Leary deserves our thanks." She bestowed on him her most promising smile. "As soon as I come to Earth, I promise to come and visit, Mr. O'Leary. I've traveled too much around the universe not to recognize a rare man when I see one. And you even have talent, too."

O'Leary was still glowing when the connection was cut.

"Why did you do that?" Beverly was annoyed with the games that Vash felt compelled to play.

"I was telling the truth, Beverly. Besides, it never hurts to be nice to people in case we need to use them in the future."

Beverly thought that Vash's words rather nicely revealed the lady's personal philosophy on life. But at the moment, she didn't care to start an ethics debate.

"Well, let's see if I can track down Data." A few minutes later Beverly finally was able to obtain his location on Earth from a Starfleet transporter station.

Beverly hailed the location.

As they were waiting for it to go through, Vash sighed loudly.

"What?"

"I was just thinking of how much fun I could be having if I were a Starfleet officer with access to all of your precious security codes."

"Fortunately, that is a problem I will not have to worry about."

"Oh?" Vash bristled. "Meaning?"

"Let's just say that you never struck me as Starfleet caliber material."

"Well you wouldn't know an Ikonian glyph stone from a tombstone transfer! You wouldn't last five minutes in a Rigan bazaar!"

Vash had Beverly there, at least when it came to glyphs. But as for dealing in bazaars, that was another matter entirely. Now, however, was not the time to prove otherwise.

Reading the placement of her call, Beverly was surprised by the location. She hadn't thought that Data would know anyone in Old Baltimore, Maryland.

An elderly lady with flowing hair, wearing a rather elaborately sparkled grey evening gown answered the hail. Surely, this couldn't be the lady in which Data was interested. That O'Leary fellow had described her as a red head.

"Yes?"

"Ma'am? I'm Beverly Crusher. I'm looking for Mr. Data. Is he there?"

From the background, Beverly could hear the sound of a Chopin Impromptu. It sounded like it was really being played by a person on a piano. Beverly heard a mistake.

"I'll let Data know you're calling," the lady announced. With that, she left the comm on, and moved away.

A moment later, a woman in a stunning silver beaded evening gown approached. When she came into full view, the women on both sides of the call were surprised.

"Beverly."

"Nella. Good to see you again."

"Good to see you too. How's Jean-Luc?"

Nella had answered Beverly's question before she'd even gotten up enough nerve to ask if Jean-Luc was with her. Beverly sighed. "I don't know how Jean-Luc is at the moment. That's why I'm calling for Data. I need his help. I understand that he's visiting you."

Nella laughed. "Yes, Data's a good friend. And a good musician. He's the one playing the piano. I've been teaching him."

A moment later, Data came over to the screen. "Forgive me, Doctor, for keeping you waiting. I had not realized that there was some urgency. I had been playing the piano, and I have developed the habit of…"

"Data!" She interrupted him. "I'm glad that you've learned to play the piano, but I've got a problem."

"Doctor, what is the nature of your problem? How may I help?"

"I'm trying to find Jean-Luc."

"You have misplaced him? Where?"

Vash stuck her head nest to Beverly. "Hi, Data. Remember me?"

"Vash. I remember our encounters. Do you wish me to recount them?"

"Later, dear boy. Right now, we need you to help us find Jean-Luc." She directed a smiling look at the android.

Beverly sighed again, then explained. "Jean-Luc left Caldos more than a month ago. He was supposed to arrive on Gaudete II two weeks later. He has yet to show up. And I don't have his itinerary to figure out where he is or what route he might have taken."

"Then you do not think he is in any danger, Doctor?"

"Jean-Luc was using civilian transport to get to his dig. Heaven knows what happened or if he just changed his travel plans."

"Would not Captain Picard contact you, Doctor, if he had changed his plans? It is unlike the Captain to allow you to worry."

Beverly turned red at his words. "Uh, Data, Jean-Luc and I did not exactly part on friendly terms. I don't think that he felt any obligation to contact me if he'd changed his plans. Which is why I cannot say for sure one way or the other as to what has happened."

"You had a fight. I understand. However, it would be remiss of me not to try and find him just to make sure that he is not in need of assistance, Doctor. I will begin at once."

Vash spoke up. "There's a stuck up Vulcan at Starfleet Command named Ensign Steck. He supposedly plotted out Jean-Luc's journey."

Beverly interjected, "And since I'm technically on leave, this ensign seems to think that my rank doesn't count. Just wait until I do get back to active duty. It will count then all over his blasted   
bureaucratic hide."

"Bloodthirsty, good. I always knew there was something other than ice water in your veins." Vash agreed with Beverly.

"Doctor, if Ensign Steck strictly adheres to regulations, I too, am currently off duty. His logic will apply to me as well."

Beverly groaned.

Vash spoke up. "Data, go around him. Jean-Luc's travel plans are not priority information. Surely you can crack those computer codes in order to get them?"

"What you are asking me to do, Vash, is clearly against Starfleet regulations."

"Don't cite the rules at me, Data, when Jean-Luc could be in real trouble!" Vash snapped back.

Data considered her words. "You are correct. Starfleet rules be damned." And then he smiled.

For once, Vash was speechless when she realized that the android was displaying emotion.

Beverly was amused by Data's choice of words even as she was relieved that he was going to help.

Nella stepped back into view. "Beverly, is there anything that I can do to help? I'll be leaving for my ship, the Cairo, soon. But I can go back on duty right now."

"Thanks, Nella,'" Beverly replied.

Data spoke up. "Nella, you are returning to active duty in forty-seven hours. Your resumption of active duty now will permit us to use your rank to get the information that we need through proper channels."

"Will do, Data," Nella agreed.

Data smiled again. "Though I must admit that I like the thought of breaking into Starfleet Command's security codes. I have not had such an intriguing challenge in quite a while."

"We’ll be in touch as soon as we know something," Nella announced. "Talk to you soon." With that, she signed off.

Beverly leaned back in her chair, somewhat relieved. "If anyone can track down Jean-Luc, it is Data. With Nella's assistance."

Vash leaned back too, made herself comfortable, crossed her legs and then stared directly at Beverly. "So, tell me what happened to my favorite Friar Tuck. But, before you tell me that tale, tell me about this latest addition to the list of ladies who have joined Jean-Luc Picard's harem. What did you call her? Neela?"

"Nella." Beverly sighed for the umpteenth time, then stood, going over to some containers by the back of the shuttlecraft. "Is it morning or night here?" She pulled out a bottle of wine. Not the good French stuff for she was saving that for Jean-Luc alone. But this bottle would have been perfect for a late brunch repast.

"It's almost morning."

Beverly started to put away the wine.

Vash reached over and grabbed the bottle. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a multi-purpose red Swiss Army knife. She had the bottle open in less than a minute.

"It's evening somewhere." Beverly raised an eyebrow. "You've never had to work with a Vulcan before, have you, Beverly?" Beverly thought of Dr. Selar. And knew the lady had a point. "They can drive you to drink. Stuffy sanctimonious bastards."

Beverly handed Vash a glass, and wine was poured.

"Jean-Luc loved Nella."

Vash took a healthy swig of her wine at this bit of news. "Gossip?"

"No. Fact. Shortly after Nella left the ship, one morning Jean-Luc told me why she'd left."

"Over breakfast, no doubt."

"Yes, over breakfast." Beverly quickly drank all her wine. "Nella is an astrophysicist - Lieutenant Commander. She was assigned to the Enterprise. Stellar Cartography. From the beginning, I knew that there was something between them. She's a musician, you see. She got Jean-Luc to play duets with her."

"Clever woman. I'd never have thought of doing that," Vash admitted, relaxing. "So, why was Jean-Luc playing house with you instead of her? You learn how to play his instrument?"

Beverly hid her smile at Vash's bawdy inference. Actually, that was one of the things that she had learned. But her professional mode surface as she answered Vash's question. "They were only together a few weeks. He really was trying to have a personal relationship with one of his officers. He really wanted to make it work." Beverly wearily sighed. "But then, Jean-Luc had to send her into a Bersallis III firestorm. At first, we all thought that she'd died. But when she came back on board, Jean-Luc changed. Shortly after that, she left. Apparently, Jean-Luc couldn't cope with having the woman he loved being under his command."

"And she just went?"

"Yes."

"You didn't," Vash mumbled under her breath. "And Nella left you to pick up the pieces."

"He only spoke of Nella the one time."

"Talking about her or explaining why he wasn't boshing you on board the Enterprise?"

Beverly winced at Vash's crude words, but acknowledged that the woman did have a point.

Vash poured some more wine into both of their glasses. "So, once he crashed his ship he felt free to seek out your company."

"Something like that."

"So, why'd he leave you in order to plan on coming to this dig? Did Jean-Luc get bored?"

"Hardly." Beverly thought for a while reviewing dispassionately all that had happened. "Let's just that we had a major disagreement. Now, I'm here to resolve it."

Vash drank some wine and mulled over everything that Beverly had left unsaid. "I take it that you think that this Nella is history?"

"I'm sure he'll always have some sort of care for her," Beverly stiffly replied.

"Then, as far as I can tell, that just leaves you and me." Beverly's expression didn't change even as Vash started to grin. "That man should throw a reunion in a few years for all of his lovers. We'll all be such great friends by then."

Beverly unexpectedly giggled. She hadn't had anything to eat in quite a while, and this wine was going straight to her head. "I think you're confusing lovers, Vash. Jean-Luc would only be throwing a small dinner party for a few of us."

"True. But at least Jean-Luc loved you and this Nella character."

Beverly smiled as she sipped some more wine. She was enjoying this quite pleasant Clarion Montrachet.

"Vash?"

"Yes, Beverly?"

"Don't count Nella out, just yet." She put down her glass. "And don't under any circumstances, assume that because we are working together to find out what has happened to Jean-Luc, that I will just disappear when we find him."

"Beverly, I would have never dreamed of taking you for granted. Or history."

Beverly knew better. "When we find him, after we kiss him and before we kill him for putting us through all of this, then and only then will we get around to discussing my place in Jean-Luc's life."

Vah finished off the bottle of wine. "Beverly?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want to marry the guy." She shuddered. "I'd make the galaxy's most terrible captain's wife. And I'd certainly be the worst woman possible for Jean-Luc."

"You'd get no argument about that from me," Beverly darkly mumbled.

"Other than great sex, Q, and a love of antiquities, Jean-Luc and I really do have little in common. Though sometimes, I do make him laugh. Do you make him laugh, Beverly?"

For a second, Beverly remembered the times their laughter had rattled the rafters in her grandmother's cottage. "Yes, I've been known to make Jean-Luc laugh, Vash."

"Good. He needs that in his lifelong companion."

"You really don't want that job?"

"Disappointed that I'm not going to fight you for him, Beverly?"

"No. That is. I don't understand." Beverly smiled. "You strike me as a rather possessive person when it comes to your lovers."

"Exact opposite, Bev. I've been known to like sharing them - especially all at the same time." Her grin was wicked. "But that's not Jean-Luc's style at all. If you ever do really get him, can I borrow him now and then? I'll give Jean-Luc back. I promise."

Beverly laughed, feeling rather charitable toward the lady for a change. "I'm beginning to understand why, the few rare times when Jean-Luc mentioned you to me, he always prefaced your name with the word outrageous." Beverly finished off another glass of wine. "And if I am ever in the position to do so, I will consider your request."

Vash's eyes widened. Her original opinion of Beverly Crusher had been that the woman was a prissy ice queen. Now she began to understand what Jean-Luc had seen in the good doctor other than great legs and red hair.

Beverly's panel buzzed. A moment later, Data's visage appeared.

"Doctor. Vash." Data greeted them "I have the itinerary. I have traced the captain as far as SB66. I must investigate further to discover what happened to Captain Picard after that. I will contact you as soon as I know. Data out."

"You were going to tell me about what happened to Data?"

Beverly explained to Vash what really happened to Data and how he now had a chip off of the old block…

Hours later Vash actually got around to introducing Beverly to the crew working the dig, as well as showing her the proto-Vulcan burial chambers that they were excavating under the hillside. There were no descendants of the Vulcan root race currently living on the planet. Some catastrophe or war had driven them off planet many millennia ago. All that was left were extraordinary ruins. This site on Gaudete II was thought to be only the first of what could become a major archaeological find.

Beverly had other things on her mind, though. Neither lady spoke of their nervousness as they waited for Data to call back. When they retired for the night, Beverly invited Vash to share her shuttlecraft. Beverly had her legitimate quarrels with the lady, but she was not a petty person. In her own way, Vash cared for Jean-Luc, and had the right to know of his fate at the same time that Beverly learned of it.

When the call came in the hours before sunrise, Beverly and Vash answered it together.

Data's facial expression was grim.

Beverly matched Data's mood, mentally cursing the day Data had learned how to express his thoughts with just a look.

"Tell me."

"Doctor." Data saw Vash and politely nodded to her. He continued. "A ‘J. Picard’ was listed as a passenger on the Valosian freighter, the Unk. It left SB66 thirty-three days ago."

"What happened?" Beverly's voice was strong, as if this were an ordinary conversation.

"The ship made several of its stops and some unscheduled ones if Starfleet intelligence is correct. The Unk was suspected of being a possible Maquis supply vessel. It dealt in contraband."

"Data, get to the point."

Data deduced that Beverly sounded irritated with him and he strove to understand why. He did have a tendency to provide too much information at times. Captain Picard used to prevent him from making such a social error.

"Sorry, Doctor. The Unk is listed as missing. Nothing has been heard from them during the past twenty-six days. Several other ships in the area have reported sighting debris."

Beverly paled. This was her only outward sign of response to Data's news.

Vash began to curse and curse under her breath.

"He's not dead," Beverly firmly stated. "He's not dead!"

Data nodded. "I agree that it is possible that Captain Picard is still alive."

Both Beverly and Vash breathed a matching sigh of relief.

Data continued. "There is no evidence the J. Picard on board the Unk was actually Jean-Luc Picard."

Beverly studied Data's expression. "There's more, isn't there?"

"Yes, Doctor."

Beverly waited.

Data said nothing.

Vash shouted, "What?"

"The Ferengi bank accounts that I managed for Captain Picard had recent withdrawals. Unfortunately, I was only informed of the withdrawals and not where, how much or to whom. Since Captain Picard withdrew credits before he began his journey to Gaudete II, I am uncertain as to whether or not Captain Picard actually withdrew the money from the Ferengi accounts or if someone else has gained access. I will continue to investigate."

"Well, now what do we do, Data?" Vash asked.

"Stay where you are. The Unk disappeared in the Alawanir Nebula. Nella Daren is already on her way to join Captain Jellico on board the Cairo. Orders will soon be cut for the Cairo and other Federation starships to investigate the disappearance of the Unk."

Beverly exchanged a look with Vash. "What do you mean by orders, Data?"

"Doctor, I may be returning to Starfleet soon. I will explain when I see you. Until we find out what happened to Captain Picard, I will remain a Starfleet officer." Data pushed a few buttons. "I am sending you all of my files. I will contact all of Captain Picard's friends in your sector and ask them to help in the search."

Vash was bewildered. "Data, if Jean-Luc isn't in Starfleet, why are you rejoining? Why are you getting the bureaucrats involved?"

"In that sector, the disappearance of an officer of the caliber of Captain Jean-Luc Picard is considered to be quite a serious matter," Data explained.

"Maquis," was all that Beverly whispered.

 

=/\= =/\= =/\=

 

Worf purposefully strode into the Troi mansion, ignored Mr. Homm and went straight to the petite grand salon that Lwaxana used for less formal occasions. It was time he resolved things with Deanna. He stopped short on the first marble step of his descent into a room whose walls were lined with hand-painted silk wall paper and had a marble floor in tones of caramel. The room was decorated in cream colored neutrals. These tones were the best choice to backdrop the vividly colored artwork, sculpture and floral arrangements that Lwaxana preferred to display in spacious disarray.

Deanna and Will were there, sitting on a sofa. Their heads were close to each other. They were deep in conversation.

A shaft of pure, primitive emotion stabbed at Worf's heart for a blinding instant. His woman should not be almost touching Will. And then, Worf forced himself to relax. Worf cleared his throat. And then he grunted.

Deanna glanced over at her lover and smiled. It was a soft smile, full of welcome, promise and sheer delight at his presence.

Will's greeting stuck in his throat as he watched the silent interplay between Deanna and Worf. He loved Deanna. He loved Worf as a brother. They were his family. But at this moment, all he could think of was that once Deanna had smiled at him like that. And that he had deliberately let her go. Now, Worf was the better man in her life. And he hated the very thought of it.

Deanna's lips tightened as she was buffeted by the emotions from both men. She sighed, suddenly tired at being at the center of the tug-of-war between them.

Worf stiffened and became more reserved. He stood before them and curtly nodded. "Am I disturbing you?"

"Sit down, Worf," Riker ordered. "Relax."

Worf grunted. But he did sit down.

Deanna tried to ease the situation. She brightly asked, "Where's Geordi? Reg? Dr. Brahms?"

"Geordi and Leah are attending some sort of seminar. Your mother recommended it. Mr. Barclay accompanied them."

Deanna thought for a moment. "Oh, yes. Mother is a fervent supporter of the Betazed Institute of Self-Learning."

Riker began to smile again as he imagined Geordi in such sessions.

Deanna glanced over at Riker. "Mother often said that she wished that you'd go to one of their weekend seminars. It might help you get over some of your inhibitions."

On a planet full of people where the cultural norm was not to have inhibitions, Riker idly wondered what they had yet to overcome. Fear of being overdressed, perhaps. As for himself, he knew he didn't have any inhibitions to conquer. Or so he thought…

Before this strained conversation could continue, Lwaxana sailed into the room, resplendent in a shining wine colored gown billowing about her. Mr. Homm trailed behind her carrying a tray heavily laden with a number of decanters.

Lwaxana cheerily greeted them. "Woof! Will!" Her voiced dropped an octave when she said her daughter's name. "Deanna!"

Worf and Will automatically stood when Lwaxana came into the room. She waved for them to be seated again. Lwaxana chose the seat next to Worf in which to hold court.

"Woofie," she announced.

He was Klingon, and Klingons did not try to alter that which they had no hope of changing. Worf somehow knew that Lwaxana was going to call him Woof or a variation thereof, for the rest   
of his life. It would be one of the burdens he would have to bear if he was to be part of Deanna's life. He just hoped that the Klingon council never heard of her version of his name. Wars had been started over less.

"Lwaxana."

"Well, your parents are off to Lake Tinoret. They'll be gone for three days. I'm so glad that they took my advice to go there for a short vacation. It's such a beautiful place." She turned her head and fondly smiled at her daughter. "Your father and I had a lovely honeymoon there, Deanna. It's one of my most treasured memories."

She held out her hand up into the air. Mr. Homm automatically handed her a tall glass cylinder with something blue in it.

Worf noticed the silence about the house. "Where is Alexander?" Alexander had taken to racing spaceships about the marble floors. Those toys, when they fell, made quite a clatter. Worf had known that his parents were going to leave for a while, but he had not expected them to take Alexander with them.

"Oh, don't worry about Alexander, Woofie. He's spending the weekend with Chandra and her sons. Her boys were just dying to have Alexander sleep over." Lwaxana directed her pleasant smile towards Will. "You remember Chandra Xert, don't you Will? The girl has twin boys. Alexander's age." She moaned, a long, drawn-out overly-dramatic sigh. "Just think, Deanna, if you had married when you were supposed to, you could be the mother of twin boys too." She pointedly stared at Will. "Some people did not play their part."

Will struggled not to remind Lwaxana of all that she had done, many years ago, to prevent him from becoming involved with Deanna. He remembered the threats. The attempted bribes. The assays into career manipulation. The multiple official protests to Ambassador Roper and his commanding officer. In spite of all that, Deanna still became his Imzadi. Yet now, Lwaxana was acting as if it were his fault alone that Deanna was not a wife and mother.

Deanna knew what Will was remembering. She turned her anger on her mother. "How dare you, Mother. You interfered too much then. How dare you criticize us for the results of your actions now!"

"I made a mistake," she blithely replied, ignoring her daughter's words.

Worf didn't understand all that was going on about him, but he knew his Will Riker well enough to know that his friend was very close to losing his temper. He attempted to change the   
conversation. "I did not give Alexander permission to leave your house."

Lwaxana smiled at Wharf. "I did." She nodded at Mr. Homm. "Pour some of that brown stuff for everyone, Mr. Homm." She turned her head back toward Worf, still smiling, and explained, 

"Deanna told me how much you like prune juice, Wharf. I believe that this is some sort of nectar made from Berengarian gack plums. I'm told it is quite…" She glanced at Mr. Homm. "What's that word that Ambassador Roper used? Exhilarating. That was it. This wine is quite exhilarating."

Hours later, Deanna would learn that the Ambassador had really said enervating, not exhilarating.

Lwaxana continued. "I thought that you'd like to try it."

Worf took the drink from Mr. Homm, but ignored it. "You had no right to give Alexander permission to leave without first consulting me. Who is this Chandra?"

Will spoke up. "Deanna's best friend. I went to the lady's wedding. It was there I met Deanna." He didn't have to explain to Worf that his first sight of Deanna had been when she was nude for the wedding ceremony. Riker's thoughts were filled with visions of her.

For a brief instance, Deanna remembered too. She smiled at Will. The same smile that she had given him, once a long time ago.

And Worf was uncomfortable with all of this.

Deanna sensed Worf's feelings. She reached over and patted his knee. "Chandra will take good care of Alexander. Don't worry. I know Chandra's sons. Alexander will learn how to be a gentleman, and Torry and Tarry will love learning how to behave like Klingon warriors."

Worf was about to protest that Betazeds could not learn how to be warriors when he realized that quite possibly, Deanna was teasing him. "I should have been consulted." He glared at Lwaxana. "I will be consulted in the future." He returned his attention to Deanna. "But, I will trust your judgment when it comes to my son. He may stay with your friends."

With this statement, Worf took a sip of the drink. He froze in shock as the liquor flowed over his taste buds. The elixir of Sto-Vo-Kor! He drank it all. Then he raised his eyes toward Lwaxana and respectfully nodded. "Good."

"Pour Woofie some more, Mr. Homm." She was quite pleased that she had found something for Mr. Worf to like. "I have plenty of this plum wine." She glanced at Mr. Homm. "At least a case?" 

Homm nodded his assent.

Riker watched the expression on Worf's face as he drank more of the thick apricot colored wine. He was amused by Worf's reaction. Will picked up his goblet and tasted the liquor. And was surprised. Pleasantly so. The wine was tangy. The gelatinous liquid glided like silk over the tongue then liquefied when it contacted body heat. It was different. It was good. He didn't mind it when Mr. Homm added more liquid to his glass. He drank it all.

Deanna drank too, meanwhile wondering what her mother was plotting. Her mother was a blank to her at this moment for she had deliberately raised barrier walls around her thoughts and emotions.

Lwaxana stood and vaguely waved her hand toward the doors to the dining hall. "Shall we?"

Even by Lwaxana's standards, the dinner was strange.

Deanna couldn't shake the feeling that her mother was up to something. She was chatting about every one and every thing that had absolutely nothing to do with any of the people eating around the table. Her conversation was bright and witty. It was her mother's favorite kind of meal. No one else was talking to take away from her place on the center stage.

When they reached the traditional fruit course stage of the meal, Mr. Homm interrupted his traditional gonging to answer a summons. Moments later he returned and bowed before Mr. Worf. He pointed in the direction of the side room that contained a terminal. Worf left to go see who wanted him.

Lwaxana directed a very friendly smile toward Will. "It's such a lovely evening, Captain Riker. Why don't you stroll about the gardens before Mr. Homm serves the dessert course."

Riker hid his surprise at this hint. Lwaxana couldn't be suggesting what he thought that she was suggesting. He instinctively looked at Deanna, willing to follow her lead when it came to handling her mother.

Deanna stood. She sweetly smiled at her mother. "What a nice idea, Mother. It's a pleasant evening. We'll be back shortly."

The minute they were past the terrace doors, Riker leaned over and whispered, "What the hell was that all about?"

"I don't know. I can't read Mother tonight. All I know is that she is scheming."

They walked in the direction of one of the flaming orchid pools that flanked this formal terrace by the dining hall.

"I thought that she approved of your relationship with Worf."

"I thought so, too."

"Then why would she practically order us to go on a romantic evening stroll?"

"She did order us, Will." Deanna sighed and leaned into Will's arms. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she looked up into his face, trying to read him too. "I don't know what's going on. And I am getting so tired of trying to stay one step ahead of her." She slightly chucked. "And ahead of you."

"What? What have I done?"

"Why did you come here, Will?"

"I wanted to see you. And Worf."

"After all the years that we've known each other, Will, you should have learned not to lie to me - especially about your feelings."

"Deanna…"

Overhead, a night bird sang a sweet song of love.

For a second, memories that this birdsong evoked overwhelmed both of them. Instinctively, naturally, Will bent his head. He gazed into her dark eyes; luminous eyes that haunted him   
wherever he went. He twined his fingers in her hair, and lowered his mouth to hers, his tongue reaching out to touch her lips. Her mouth opened beneath his touch.

He had not kissed her like this since the time that they had been lovers at Janaran Falls, other than in his dreams. It had been a long time since he'd held Deanna in his arms. He opened up his heart, and let all of his chaotic emotions flood through their contact.

Her mouth was warm and soft. All considerations of their actions disappeared beneath what they were feeling. Bright passion flared, beyond just a mere physical need. As intimate as they had once been, it was nothing compared to the strong wall of desire that suddenly welled up between them. She moaned.

He kissed her deeply. And when it was finished, he removed his mouth from hers, and looked at her, almost frightened by the sudden intensity of feeling that was filling his soul.

What had he done…

"Damn you, Will Riker!" burst into his consciousness. Deanna pulled away from him. He dropped his arms, releasing her.

Tears filled her eyes, choking in her throat as she looked at him. "Why, Will? Why did you have to do this to me? Why did you come back? Why couldn't you leave me alone?"

"Deanna…"

She turned and fled, racing back to the house. She stopped when she saw Worf standing on the terrace steps. He caught her in his arms, embracing her for just a moment.

"I will go," he whispered, releasing her.

"NO!" She angrily looked behind her, as Will followed her to the terrace. "NO!" she repeated, grabbing Worf's arm when he tried to move away.

"I cannot stay." He looked into his beloved's face. "If I stay, I will hurt you. Or my friend."

Riker stepped onto the terrace. Guilt was clearly visible on his face.

"Worf… Deanna…" He didn't know what to say to them.

Lwaxana interrupted this little tableau with the command, 'Inside. All of you." Gone was the effervescent woman who seemed more concerned about the color of her hair than the company that her daughter kept. "Sit!" she ordered gesturing to a group of low couches clustered by a small fountain. There was an edge to her voice; a strength of undefeatable, adamantine purpose.

Riker suddenly saw the woman who wore the rank of Ambassador so well. He knew why she'd deserved such a title. And why Captain Picard used to mutter something about a dame formidable.

"What, Mother?" Deanna tried to control her voice, but her emotions were running riot. She felt more like mindlessly screaming than listening to her mother.

"Sit!" This time it wasn't just an order. It was a royal command. Deanna wearily complied. She wasn't surprised when Riker and Worf took positions directly opposite each other. Their simmering emotions were sufficient to give her the start of another headache.

She reached over and poured herself some more of the peach brown Berengarian liquor, from one of the several decanters of the stuff that Mr. Homm had placed on the stone cocktail table that was in the center of this furniture grouping. As a matter of habit, she poured liquid into other glasses as well. If Worf's hands were occupied with the holding of a glass, he might be less inclined to do other things with them - like killing Will Riker.

Lwaxana looked at each and every one of them subjecting them to the kind of stare that Deanna usually did her best to avoid at all costs.

"You will resolve this matter between you," she dictated. "I have been most patient waiting for you to make up your minds. But, enough is enough." She was on the verge of losing her temper. "I will not have my daughter hurt by the likes of you! And you are hurting her! All of you will reconcile your differences - now!

She swiftly pivoted, her ornate robes swishing about her. "Mr. Homm!" she ordered. "Woof, Will and Deanna are not to leave this room until they have put their differences to bed!" Only Lwaxana Troi could get away with stomping her foot and not look absolutely ridiculous or childish.

"This is going to be a long night," Riker muttered to himself as he reached for his glass. He drained it in one gulp, then poured a full glass for his next drink.

Worf looked expectantly at Deanna. She did nothing. A steely eyed glare met his gaze when he turned toward Lwaxana. She was silently challenging him. Worf knew that Mr. Homm could not physically keep him here. Unlike Will or Deanna, he was still wearing his comm badge. He could leave, without hurting anyone. But he knew that if he did leave, Lwaxana Troi would never welcome him into her home again. And that would hurt Deanna. He had no choice. He stayed, grabbing a large glass off of the tray, and filled it to the brim. He drank all of it.

"It's settled, then," Lwaxana announced when no one moved to leave. She walked over to her daughter and kissed her cheek. "Choose carefully, Little One. I will come if you summon me." She stood, then explained out loud, "I am off to the Trekori reception. Duty calls." With that, she left the room leaving in her wake three wary, nervous people.

"Mother…" Deanna groaned out loud.

Suddenly Will's nervous laughter broke the silence. "You can say that again, Deanna."

"She will," Worf glumly added. He stared at Deanna. "Speak," he ordered.

Deanna drank instead, thinking that she was glad that the wine was synthehol.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

"Leah, there's got to be some sort of mistake here." Geordi held up his padd. "I understand about all of the fifteen step classes that I need to attend, and the individual counseling - but what about all of these other lectures? I'd hoped that we'd have some time to ourselves."

Leah briefly brushed her fingers against his cheek before she took the padd from his hand. She stepped away from him into the sunlight.

The suite that they were sharing at the resource center was quite lovely; airy, full of light from walls and ceilings of windows, filled with flowering plants and tinkling table fountains. And at night, their bed was a platform in the center of a room surrounded only by swaying waffa trees under the stars.

Leah studied the schedule. "What is the difficulty, Geordi? This seems right."

"Those afternoon and evening sessions that they have listed - what are they? Family planning? Dynamics of couple relationships?"

Leah grinned to herself, but kept her voice quite calm as she explained. "The Betazeds offer such a wide variety of marital counseling courses, I thought that it would be foolish not to avail ourselves of them while we were here."

It took Geordi a moment to comprehend Leah's use of the word marital.

"Huh?"

She put down the padd and moved closer to him. "Geordi, I spent several years of my life at the Vulcan Science Academy. Besides acquiring an intense study of nonlinear science theory as a hobby, the only other thing I learned from our fellow Vulcan scientists is that Vulcan logic when applied to personal relationships is not such a bad idea. What do you think?"

Geordi shook his head, still distracted by Leah's choice of words. Suddenly he understood something that she'd just said. "Nonlinear… Leah! What does the chaos theory have to do with our relationship?"

"Everything or nothing. You decide." She put her arms around his neck. "I wish I'd applied Vulcan logic to my life sooner."

"Uh, meaning?"

"I spent seven years of my life waiting for my ex-husband to understand me. That wasn't logical. I don't intend to waste any more time."

"Leah…" He couldn't think of a single thing to say when he heard the laughter in her voice.

"It would be illogical of me, Mr. LaForge, to let you get away. Where else would I find a man who speaks my language - in and out of bed. Therefore, the sooner that you are my husband, the better."

"Uh, Leah?" he whispered.

"Just say yes, Geordi. That's all you have to do."

"Leah?" he gasped.

"Remember that story of the alternate future that your Captain Picard told you about?" Geordi weakly nodded in agreement. "Well, I like that possible future. Six kids. Becoming the head of the Daystrom Institute. Being married to you. Sounds like a good life to me."

"Leah, that future won't happen. The Enterprise existed there - not here."

"So? Who says that at least some of it can't turn out right?"

"Leah!"

She kissed him. Then she pulled off his visor and put it on the table. And then she kissed him again until they were both breathless. And then he kissed her back, lowering her to the floor, so that they were now in a passionate clinch lying on a very thick and comfortable carpet. He was glad that the windows were one-way. Even on a planet of exhibitionists, there were some things that Geordi did not care to publicly demonstrate.

"Say yes, Geordi," Leah whispered.

"Yes, Geordi," he dutifully answered.

Leah stopped kissing him, stilling her hands from their erotic explorations. "Geordi."

"Yes, Leah?"

"Mr. Data was a greater influence on you than you realize."

=/\= =/\= =/\=

He pressed his naked length against her, reveling in the press of flesh against flesh. He touched her with his teeth, demonstrating with precise bites the fine line that there was between pleasure and pain. She nipped him back, displaying her acquired skills from the lessons that he'd taught her.

His arousal was painfully throbbing, but she wasn't ready for him again - not just yet. And when she was ready, mutely begging him with her body, he penetrated her. She stopped moving, momentarily overcome by his force. She surrendered again, forgetting all of her doubts and their problems. She was absorbed by the universe of him. And he found this unbelievably exciting. He pleasured her until she could stand no more. Then he silenced her cries with his mouth as he took his own gratification.

And when they could breathe again, she rolled over onto his chest and went back to sleep. Deanna decided that she liked these hours the best when she was in Worf's bed. He most definitely was what her father used to call a morning person.

When their breathing was even, and when they both were asleep, Will Riker carefully inched his way from the place where he'd been lying frozen in fear at being noticed. He was now moving toward the edge of the bed. Riker was aghast with what had just happened. He had no recollection of somehow ending up in what he could only guess was Deanna's bed. He just knew that he had to get out of it before he awakened a now sleeping Klingon. There was no way he could explain this situation until he had an accounting of it for himself.

Maybe they'd been drugged. One minute the three of them were sitting around a table arguing. The next, he was here, wherever here was. He couldn't even guess what time it was. He automatically reached for his comm badge hoping to whisper his way back to some safe place. It didn't matter if the place of transporting was public. This was Betazed, after all. Nude people were not that uncommon. It was one of the few planets where a nude Starfleet officer could transport about and it would not end up as part of his permanent service record.

But then he remembered he'd been wearing his civvies when he'd come to dinner. And he had left his comm badge behind. Then he noticed something else. In the dim lighting he couldn't see any clothes - belonging to any of them.

Naked. No comm badge. No clothes. Worf and Deanna in post-coital bliss. What a great way to start the day. Assuming, of course, that Worf wouldn't kill him if Worf awakened within the next few minutes, before Will Riker could escape from the room. He stilled at the thought that the door might be locked. 

No… his luck couldn't be that bad…

She was dreaming of Will again. Passionate dreams. The way he reveled in her breasts. How he enjoyed bringing pleasure to her in so many varied ways before he would seek his own satisfaction. The way he found joy in her pleasure. And then their pleasure. How he would make love for hours… 

She stirred, tensing against Worf's chest, until she was positive that it was her Klingon warrior's chest. That last dream of hers - it had seemed so dramatically real. But she was resting in Worf's arms - and no one else's.

Slowly, carefully, Will descended in a controlled slide onto the floor from underneath the bedcovers. For a moment, he debated hiding under the bed until after Deanna and Worf had left the room. But he doubted if Worf's keen senses when they weren't being distracted by Deanna, would miss the fact that there was another man present in the room. Will Riker really didn't want his epitaph to contain any comments about being murdered by a jealous lover after being found hiding under a bed. Will had spent too much of his life being peerless, to have his final moments turned into a farcical cliché; the fodder of barroom gossips for years to come. Besides, he didn't think he could hide through another lovemaking session between Worf and Deanna. Once had been unbearable torture. He'd never forget this moment. Or his desire to join them.

On his hands and knees, he slowly moved toward the nearest door. If he stayed low enough, he might be able to stay out of the line of sight of the couple in the bed until he opened the door. Then he'd run like hell and hope that Worf would be too confused to be able to take off after him instantaneously. If he still was in Lwaxana's house, he had a fighting chance to make it to a comm panel and request emergency beam out before Worf came roaring by. If not, well, he'd faced death every day. He just had never imagined death by his Klingon friend.

Will then discovered something. The almost tropical humidity of the current weather system gave the air just enough moisture so that his bare flesh wanted to stick to the marble floors. Every time he moved, his flesh made sucking sounds. Curses and prayers mingled in Riker's thoughts as he steadily crawled toward the door.

From behind him, someone moved in the bed. A voice murmured something, in what sounded like Klingonese. Will turned his head to see if he was suddenly in greater peril.

By the time he realized that the light pattern on the floor had changed - that the door had silently swung open - it was too late. When he turned his head back, he was staring at a set of expertly pedicured toes protruding from ridiculous-looking strappy sandals. The toenail color was unusual, glowing bright orange even in this low lighting.

Will Riker then knew that if he survived the next ten minutes, he would be the luckiest man in the galaxy.

"Why, Captain Riker. Whatever are you doing crawling down on the floor?" Lwaxana's voice was cheerful, as her words broke the quiet of the early morning. She flicked on a light.

Riker reacted instinctively. He reared up, offsetting Lwaxana's balance. The silver tray Lwaxana was carrying came crashing down on his head.

Between her screams and his involuntary ouches when naked flesh encountered pottery shards, Riker surrendered to the inevitable.

He was doomed.

"MOTHER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" Deanna screeched. She was finding it impossible to believe that her Mother had dared to invade her own daughter's bed chamber. She raised herself up on her elbows. And then, Deanna was bereft of speech. She could not believe that she was seeing a bare behind. Little gasping sounds came from her throat as she tried to find the strength to speak.

"MRS. TROI!" Worf bellowed, now wide awake. He quickly sat up. And then wondered if he had gone insane. "Q! Where are you?" It was the only conceivable explanation in a world gone mad.

"Q, who?" Mrs. Troi politely asked. She bent down and extended her hand toward Will. "Do you need assistance in getting up, Captain Riker?"

Worf leapt out of the bed, bounding over to Riker and Lwaxana. He reached down and picked Will up, crushing him hard against his chest. Will reacted in pain.

Deanna scrambled over the side of the bed, suddenly understanding how close Worf was to going over the edge. The Klingon was furious, in a blood rage state, ready to destroy a lifetime of civilized behavior over one incomprehensible act.

And then Deanna saw what was on the floor. Though the teapot and cups had shattered, there were three intact saucers along with some toast, and prune Danish scattered about under her mother's feet.

"WORF! PUT WILL DOWN!" she ordered. When he didn't, she ran over to him and socked him hard on the upper arm. "Down, Worf! NOW!"

Worf dropped Riker.

Deanna whirled about, her breasts heaving as she bellowed at her mother, "MOTHER! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

The two men stopped moving as they watched, with almost fatal fascination as mother and daughter, finally squared off against each other.

"What do you mean, Little One - what have I done…"

"You were bringing in three sets of cups and saucers, Mother! How DARE you! YOU set all of this up! What did you do - drug the wine?"

Lwaxana royally sniffed. And then, haughtily sniffed again.

"Lwaxana," Will croaked. Pain shot through his sides as he tried to draw a deep breath. He had a suspicion that Worf had just cracked several of his ribs.

She beatifically smiled over at Will. "Yes, captain? What can I do for you?"

"If you are responsible for the sleeping arrangements, if all of this mess is the result of your plotting, you will pay."

Lwaxana tched-tched at his words. "Captain, what must you think of me, if you think that I'd do something like this to my only living daughter." She sniffed again. "Whatever this is…"

She glanced slyly over at Worf and Deanna.

"Stop the act, Mother," Deanna ordered.

Lwaxana ignored her daughter. "I did not plan this…" She waved her hand in the direction of the bed. She smiled at her daughter. "And you may be the first Betazed female to decide upon having two husbands at the same time before she reaches The Phase." She looked over at Worf and Will. "Most males of any species are so fragile, you know They rarely survive The Phase… intact."

"What is the Phase?" Worf's voice was hoarse. It was the first coherent thing he'd said. Lwaxana's words about husbands did not bother him. It was her other words that caused him to be perplexed.

"I'll explain later, Worf," Will commented, amusement warring with anger over Lwaxana's actions. Her use of the word husbands did bother him. He focused his attention Lwaxana. "If you didn't trap us, who did? Someone had to drug us, bring us to the bed, undress us, and take all of our clothing."

Lwaxana had the good grace to blush. "Well, Mr. Homm did that."

Deanna didn't know whether to groan or cry. She was perilously close to doing both.

Lwaxana stiffened, sensing her daughter's distress. "It's not my fault, Deanna! I didn't know that when I told Mr. Homm to keep you together until it was time to put you to bed that he was taking my instructions literally."

Her mother's emotions seemed so sincere. But there was something that she still was keeping hidden.

"And the wine, Mother?"

Lwaxana's blush deepened. "I didn't know that the Berengarian gack wine had similarities to the Vulcan ta'liah wines."

Deanna groaned for she knew that ta'liah was a wine drunk during pon farr. She was about to start a tirade, castigating her mother, when Mr. Homm entered the room, turning up the lighting some more. He was carrying all of their missing clothing, now freshly cleaned and pressed.

And where there was light, all could see. Deanna froze in shock as she looked upon fresh love bites on Will Riker's shoulders and neck. And long, familiar looking scratches were on his arms and back. She collapsed onto the bed, moaning.

It hadn't been an erotic dream! She had literally slept and physically mated with both of the men in her life - in the same bed.

Not exactly a religious person, nevertheless, her mind was filled with spiritual appeals as she prayed that Worf wouldn't notice the injuries to Will Riker's body. For Worf's own body bore similar love marks.

Lwaxana nodded toward Mr. Homm. "Clear up this mess." But she didn't point at the broken pottery. She mentally informed her daughter, "Don't worry, Little One. Trust your mother…"

A minute later, Deanna stared in disbelief as her Mother just simply left the room.

"What did she say?" Will commanded Deanna to tell him.

On the verge of hysterical laughter, Deanna explained, "Mother has a very practical viewpoint about all of this. About us."

They joined her on the bed, each gingerly sitting to either side of her, both deliberately trying to ignore her nudity and their nakedness and the whole bloody situation. Riker had considered   
himself to be a somewhat sophisticated individual when it came to matters of the flesh. But a ménage a'Troi had never been one of his possibilities…

"What?" both men asked together. "What did you Mother tell you?"

"That if I get pregnant, we'll have no problem figuring out which one of you is the father…"

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Jean-Luc Picard stretched, and then stretched again. He was relaxed, comfortable and at peace with himself, a rare happenstance in the circumstances of his life.

Ro Laren lifted her head up off of his naked chest. "Admit it," she teased. "You like hanging around asteroid belts. Something about the inherent dangers of crashing big rocks appeals to your gambling nature."

Picard reached over and pressed a kiss against her temple. "You appeal to my gambling nature, Ro Laren. The possibility that we might die at any second does not." Picard automatically glanced down the hall toward the bridge. He didn't see or hear any warnings. Everything appeared to be functioning properly. He relaxed backwards onto the rather large captain's bed (for a space ship).

"The asteroid belts are an old trader's trick," Picard explained.

"All of us old traders know that trick, Johnny. But few have the piloting skills that you do to actually do it." She dramatically sighed. "You could make a fortune if you ever decide to become a smuggler."

Picard laughed. "At least you've given up on the idea of making me Maquis."

"Oh, I haven't given up on you, Johnny. But once you are out here long enough your own sense of righteousness will do that." She sighed again. "Now, tell me about my piloting abilities, amongst my other skills…"

Picard paused, and studied the lady toying with his chest hairs. "You are fishing for compliments."

"Of course I am. I'm the one who found the cavern where we are hiding out with the Starbuck. I flew the ship in there, and made a perfect landing." She beamed at him. "All you did was land this tub of bolts, beam me over and turn on the cloaking device."

"After successfully shaking the pirates tailing us," he added.

"Don't you mean deliberately putting this pretty ship through her battle paces? Those Ptak! that followed us were no match for you." She changed the tone of their conversation. "Those pirates will be waiting for us to rendezvous with the Adama in thirty hours."

"I know. You'll go in as usual with the Starbuck. I'll follow in the Galen keeping her cloaked."

"The Galen. I like the name you've chosen for this ship. She's a beauty."

Picard had to agree, feeling a surprising sense of pride of ownership in this fleet little ship. The Galen could do warp 9.7 if its captain felt like ignoring Federation speed limit mandates. She had a functioning top-of-the-line cloaking device. Besides a battery of phasers that had once belonged to a Federation starship, the Galen was also armed with both photon torpedoes and quantum torpedoes, which were the latest top-secret armament that Starfleet had to offer. Picard had thought that only Defiant-class ships had quantum torpedoes. Evidently, Starfleet had some serious problems with the sector's quartermaster.

The Galen also had three full-service replicators, three separate areas to the ship, plus cargo space, sleeping quarters with bathing facilities for a crew of four, and the biggest bed that Picard had ever seen in a ship this size. She also had plenty of panels that gleamed in the star light. He liked that too.

Ro Laren teased him that the bed size was the major point that had sold him on the Galen.

The Galen was also the first space ship that Picard had ever actually owned. Every other ship in his life had belonged to Starfleet. The Galen belonged to him. He didn't feel inclined to share her.

He moved aside when Laren slid out of bed. Moments later she returned, doing a balancing act with two plates and two mugs.

"Two teas, Earl Grey, hot," she stated. "And hot hasperat. You ever have hasperat before, Jean-Luc?"

"No. I've never had the pleasure."

"Well, if this stuff is any good, it will give you a lot of vim and energy." She handed him the mugs. "And vigor. Definitely vigor."

He sat up, took the mugs from her and placed them on the ledge beside the bed. She then gracefully joined him in bed, without dropping the plates.

"No forks?"

"No need…"

He looked at the plate of hasperat. He had a suspicion that it might be a little greasy.

"It's spicy," she warned.

"I've eaten Klingon food and survived." He brushed off her warning. He picked up the hasperat and took a large bite. Years of discipline were the only reason he didn't spit the food out instinctively. To say that this hasperat was spicy was an understatement. His sinuses watered after he swallowed a second bite. Then he drank all of his tea.

"Vim, you said?" His voice broke. He tried not to choke as he spoke.

"Hasperat can rejuvenate lots of things."

He was about to state his rejoinder when he had a sudden thought. "The replicator was programmed for this?"

"Yes, as well as several other Bajoran foods including kava cake."

"So, the former owners of this ship that has no current legitimate registry were Bajoran."

"Or Cardassians with a taste for Bajoran cooking," Ro added.

Picard agreed with her. "You noticed some of the wiring too."

"Definitely Cardassian schematics." She finished off her breakfast. "Pakled based technology, Romulan cloaking device, Tholian connectors and Federation Heisenberg compensators. This ship is a real mixed bag of technology." She drank her tea. "What are you going to do about the registration?"

"Claim right of salvage through the Klingon Empire when we get to Federation space."

"Hopefully before we run into any Starfleet patrol ships. Though I must admit it would be fun to see you try to talk your way out of being caught by a Federation patrol ship." She licked her fingers clean after she placed her plate and mug on the deck. She leaned back against a padded bulkhead. "So, what did you think of the hasperat?"

"It has its uses." He reached over and wiped his fingers on the edge of the sheet. He could tell that she didn't like his answer. "Especially the vigor part," he teased.

She brought her knees up and rested her chin on them, tucking the majority of the metallic sheet about her legs. And then she just looked at him wide eyes, expectant.

Her state made him nervous. He could sense something behind her look. He proceeded cautiously. "You have something on your mind, Laren?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Did you really want me to come back to France with you?"

"Yes."

"You'd expect me to quit the Maquis?"

"Naturally."

"What if I say I do, but really decide to spy for the Maquis?"

"You'd not break your word to me. Besides, the heart of the French wine making region will provide you with little tactical knowledge for the Maquis. And I know that you are a lousy spy. I've seen you in action, remember?"

"Something tells me that I should be insulted."

He shook his head. "There are some things that you do very well, Ro Laren. The ability to lie to me has not been one of them."

She focused on some of his words. "So, what things do you think that I'm good at?"

He smiled. "When you used to sit at the helm so full of arrogance…"

"Confidence," she corrected.

"When you sat at the Enterprise's helm, I was secure in the fact that you were there, confident that the very best was piloting my star ship."

"I took the post that was once held by a fourteen-year-old kid, Jean-Luc. I didn't have to go that far to improve upon that performance."

"Wesley was a better pilot that you, Ro."

She'd heard enough about Wesley Crusher to know that he was better at just about everything else. But at least when she quit Starfleet, she had not ended up living on a Cardassian controlled planet.

She looked away from him, fighting the emotions that were swelling within her breast. She had to confront them. "Why don't you want me to love you, Jean-Luc?"

He should not have been surprised at her use of the word love. But he was. She was challenging him.

"True to form, Ro Laren…"

"It would be quite easy for me to love you, Jean-Luc Picard. But somehow, I think that you wouldn't want that to happen."

He had no words to say to her. She was only speaking the truth.

"I don't know if I could not fall in love with you if I went with you to France, Johnny. I like the idea of getting away from all of this…" She gestured about. "But I wouldn't be getting away from   
you if I went. And that could create all sorts of problems."

For a time, he did not say anything. But he owed her some kind of explanation.

"Under ordinary circumstances…"

"We'd never have become lovers. This I know, Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

"But since we are lovers… and friends…"

Her smile was tender as she gazed at him. "Friends. Yes, we are that at least, Jean-Luc."

"I love someone else."

Now it was her turn to retreat into silence. "I see. You can be with me and think of someone else at the same time?"

"NO! That is, when I am with you, I am not thinking… I would not do that to you. Or her."

"Well then, why aren't you with her?"

"That is a question, Laren, I've been asking myself every day since I left Caldos."

Ro Laren froze. "Caldos?"

He didn't notice her stillness. "Yes, I was living there for a while."

"YOU BASTARD!" She kicked him hard, shoving him out of bed. He hit the deck with a thud.

"Uh… what?" He tried to get up.

She jumped on him, pummeling him with her fists.

"Why?" he groaned, ducking from her hits. He didn't want to retaliate, but he did start to consider putting her in a hammer lock.

"BEVERLY!" She said the name as if it explained everything.

"What?"

"Beverly is my friend. How could you!"

She was still swinging at him when he suddenly rolled, bringing her body underneath his own. He trapped her arms by the wrists, and held her until she stopped struggling.

"Beverly is my friend too."

"You love her!"

"Yes."

"I would have never…"

"I know that, Laren. But, beyond the first night, everything that has happened between us was voluntary on both sides."

"I don't understand." She didn't want to cry even though she felt like it. Badly.

"Beverly and I parted. That's why I was on my way to Gaudete II." He lightly kissed her on the forehead. "I did not anticipate what has happened between us. But, I will not deny the strength of our relationship, either. I did choose to continue our relationship, Laren."

"You're a bastard, Jean-Luc Picard."

"If I had arranged beforehand for us to become lovers, then I would indeed be guilty of your charge."

"What are you going to tell Beverly?"

"If I ever see her again, I will tell her the truth."

"And until then?"

He looked down at her and smiled. "I am glad that I met you, Ro Laren." He brushed aside some of her bangs that had strayed.

"I wonder if I will say the same when you leave," she complained, before she reached up to kiss him.

A long time later he commented, "I don't know why men speak so disparagingly of a relationship with Bajoran women. I, for one, have found you entrancing."

She suddenly laughed. "That's because I've always treated you with consideration and kindness. I've been keeping my true virago nature hidden from you."

"Laren, I learned of your true nature a long time ago." He picked her up and deposited her back on the bed. "I'm getting too old for decks."

Her grin was devilish. "Wanna bet?"

He groaned and decided to overwhelm her with kisses. Hours later, when he was so tired and sated that he could barely move, after surviving having her on both the deck as well as the bed, he rolled her onto his chest and kissed the top of her head.

"We won't be able to speak freely when we return to the Adama."

"That is, if Ragner lets you live. I have a feeling that he's going to have a special welcoming party for the return of the great Starfleet Captain, Jean-Luc Picard. He's going to figure that you played him for a fool. That we both did. And he would be right."

"You're right, of course." He toyed with her hair as he thought out loud. "Can Ragner be bought? Bribed?"

She recoiled in mock horror. "You? Thinking of bribing someone? Imagine that!"

"Bribery is infinitely preferable if it helps me to avoid being spaced, Ro Laren."

"True." She thought for a moment considering what Ragner needed. "Ragner's got a pretty good income from his dealings. His problem is that there are quite a few places where all the money on the planet still isn't enough to let him land. Like I said before, he may help the Maquis on some matters, but we use him only because we do not have much of a choice. And he needs us in order to keep his supplies coming from the planets where he is at the top of their shoot on sight list."

"So, what does he need?"

"A couple of photon torpedoes should be enough to keep him happy. And I certainly wouldn't let him or any of his men on board this ship. Hell, I'd even keep the Galen cloaked around him, if I could. The less he knows about this jewel, the better." She looked at him and kissed his shoulder. "Ragner has killed men just to get his hands on a bar of latinum. He'd murder you, me, Mela and her kids if he thought it could gain him the Galen."

"Why did he rescue me in the first place?"

"He needed a cook. You intrigued him. And Ragner does no evil if he doesn't have to. He is a practical villain. He does have a code of ethics. They're just not the Maquis' or yours."

Picard nodded, understanding her warnings.

"In a few hours, we'll be rejoining the Adama," she sighed, trying to keep the trembling of her voice under control.

"We may never be together again, like this," he added, somewhat surprised by the sense of loss that he was feeling.

"I just want to say, Captain…"

He silenced her by kissing her one more time.

"Lieutenant, certain circumstances were beyond our control. But, if I ever have to go aroaming the galaxy again as a space pirate, you would be my first choice of companions." His smiled faded as he turned to more serious thoughts. "If you ever need me, I'll be there, Ro Laren. Get word to Keiko or Data. I am in your debt." He kissed her forehead again. "And try not to break too many Federation laws along the way. I may be many things - but I am not a miracle worker or a lawyer. I do have my limits especially if you keep on violating Federation laws." He smiled, reassuringly. "There are some prisons that even I cannot break you out of, Ro."

She grinned as she started to make love to him one more time. "About those limits, Jean-Luc. I don't know. I know I don't have any. And I don't think that you have any too…"

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Twenty hours later, Beverly's comm screen beeped. She was alone in the craft as she answered it. Expecting Data, she was somewhat pleased and surprised to see Will Riker on the other end.  
His expression was quite grim, yet determined. "Data just got a hold of us. Told me. Told us - about Jean-Luc."

She read the comm information. "You're on Betazed?"

"It's too long a story to tell. Some of us were on shore leave. I'm going back to G-6 to assign my cadets to a search exercise. With my squad of fighter ships, we'll be able to cover a lot more 

space than most other ships." He glanced over to his side. "Worf will literally bring in the Marines."

"That's good, Will."

Worf walked over to stand by Captain Riker. "Doctor," he greeted her. "I have communicated with my brother. The Klingon fleet in the sectors will search. We will find the captain."

Will took over the screen again. "Lwaxana Troi is rallying her troops too. I'm not sure how many favors the Ambassador is pulling in, but it is a considerable number. Even some non-aligned planets are now searching for the captain." He paused and stared at Beverly for a moment. "Beverly, I have to ask this question. And, it's better that I do the asking than some Admiral. Starfleet has already started questioning Jean-Luc's actions."

"They think he might have gone over to the Maquis." She stated the obvious.

"Yes. They were wondering why he took such a disreputable tramp ship on such a circuitous route to Gaudete II…"

"That's not such a deep dark secret, Will. There's no hidden agenda behind Jean-Luc's travel plans. Jean-Luc couldn't get passage on a Starfleet vessel. He had to pay his own way. Having to   
use only civilian transportation limited his choices and added weeks on to his travel time. I think he just took the cheapest ships available to him, and didn't really bother checking into their backgrounds other than making sure that they were space worthy."

Riker was shocked by her words. "What do you mean he couldn't get passage on any Starfleet vessel? I do not understand."

"Starfleet regulations about officers on a leave of absence rather than shore leave prevented him from using Starfleet vessels for transportation. He was upset about it at the time. Ensign Steck was adamant about the following of Starfleet regulations."

Riker made a mental note to look up one Ensign Steck when he had the time. If a great man's life or career was lost because an ensign was foolish enough not to accommodate a man of Jean-Luc's stature, his head would roll.

"And you know how proper Jean-Luc can be at times not even wanting to give the appearance of behavior that some would deem inappropriate. I'm sure he didn't even consider calling in any of his personal markers to try and get a ride on any Starfleet vessel."

"So Beverly, you don't think that Jean-Luc would join the Maquis?"

She hesitated for a second. Will already had his answer before she asked, "What do you think, Will?"

Will didn't know how to answer her. They both knew of the pressures that had tested Jean-Luc over the past few months. It was remotely possible that under certain trying circumstances, Jean-Luc Picard could consider the Maquis to be a possible solution to his problems.

"Stay where you are, Beverly. I'll make Gaudete II the center of the search. You will coordinate the search efforts, and any possible medical needs. Once Data gets to you, he'll keep track of the details. Riker out."

"Beverly, out," she whispered to a blank screen. Unvoiced fears troubled her. Even if everything that had happened to Jean-Luc during the past few weeks was perfectly innocent, assuming of course that he was still among the living, even if he had done nothing more improper other than to take a berth on a cargo ship with a questionable reputation, she knew that there were certain people at Starfleet command who would use any perceived transgression to crucify him.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Even though he had slept for six hours, Jean-Luc still felt tired. He'd been living on the edge of his nerves for too many days to completely relax. And recuperate. Jean-Luc thought longingly of the times he'd napped in front of a fireplace on Caldos. He felt like he could use a week in front of that fireplace before he would consider himself feeling normal again.

At least he had his new toy, the Galen, to keep him occupied. He could rest later. She was a responsive ship, equal to the best that Starfleet had to offer. He knew how much Will Riker or Geordi would enjoy getting their hands on her. And if he ever did get a ship of his own again, he'd make the Galen his captain's yacht.

For the first time he considered becoming an independent trader because it would mean that he could fly this ship wherever he wished to go. And that drew him. Freedom from the responsibilities that sometimes in the past, had been so absolutely overwhelming that he had never even thought of his own self for days, had its own appeal too. The captain of a starship was never free from his duties, even on shore leave. There was also the burden of the image that he felt had been part of his duty to maintain.

For the first time in a very long time his immediate concerns only included staying alive, rescuing Mela and her family, actually making it to the dig on Gaudete II and Ro Laren - a far cry from the days when he'd been answerable for the lives of over a thousand people every breathing minute of his life. In spite of all of the serious life-and-death problems that faced him in the immediate future, he actually was having an adventure. He was accountable to no one but himself. And he had to admit to himself, in the quiet hours of a late night watch, that he was having fun.

After double checking all of his controls, he walked over to the nearest replicator and ordered tea, and a double strong double sweet coffee for Laren. Mugs in hand, he went to his cabin, and sat on the edge of the bed. Putting down the mugs, he gently tapped her shoulder, rousing her from her sleep.

"Time to go, Ro."

"'Nother five minutes," she mumbled into the pillow.

"Your coffee will be cold by then," he argued.

"You drink it."

"I've already got my Earl Grey. Amazing how DaiMon Behlk knew my preferences and then programmed them into the replicators."

She rolled over and raised one eye lid. "You're not going to stop talking, are you? You're a tyrant."

"I know."

"You're the one who wore me out and now you won't let me recuperate."

"True."

She grumbled under her breath as she rolled over back onto her stomach, hitting her pillow. She raised her head for she'd thought of something. "Do we have enough time to take a shower?"  
"It's because you asked me that question two hours ago that we are now short of time, Ro."

"Typical male response - always blaming the woman," she groused. But she did sit up and drink her coffee.

Five minutes later she looked sleek and dangerous, dressed in her red cat suit. She added to it a leather belt holding several phasers, two knives, and a few compact weapons whose purpose Picard did not question. He didn't ask her about the weaponry that she had hidden about her body. Her suit may have been skin tight, but he suspected that she was an expert at secreting weapons.

"Getting ready to greet Ragner?" She nodded. "I'm going to transfer three regular photon torpedoes and a quantum torpedo to the Starbuck. Have you figured out how to transport off the   
Galen and still keep the ship in cloaked proximity to the Adama?"

"Yes."

"Will Ragner know that I bought a ship?"

"I don't think that we should mention it until he brings the topic up. Behlk would want to keep you as a good customer, I imagine. And gossiping about your purchases might make you mad. 

It is possible that Ragner does not know that you have a ship, Jean-Luc."

"On the other hand, DaiMon Behlk might conclude that I won't live beyond my first meeting with Ragner and therefore would feel no need to be loyal to me."

"Do you really think that DaiMon Behlk would choose a ragtag Vorlo over a man that survived the Borg, has the Klingon High Council in his debt, and was captain to the flagship of Starfleet?   
You don't know the extent of your own reputation, Jean-Luc." She grinned. "Besides, DaiMon Behlk would fight to keep you healthy and in his debt, Johnny. Ragner's only worth a few hundred bars of latinum in profit every year. You have the potential to earn that Ferengi thousands upon thousands of bars. Now, where do you think a Ferengi will place his loyalties?"

Picard reached over and clipped a tiny gold disc to her Bajoran earring. "This is programmed to only respond to your voice or touch, Laren. It's an automatic transporter command to the Galen. You can leave the Adama at any time as long as Ragner doesn't have the shields up. Just activate it. I have two. And, as a last resort, I've placed a transponder under the skin of my forearm." He showed her a slight red mark. "If I activate this and if you are near me at the time, we both will be beamed over to the Galen."

"What about Mela and the kids?"

"I've discs for them as well."

He went over to the comm panel and made some adjustments. "Hopefully we can be straightforward in our dealings with Ragner and that he'll accept our bribes."

"It wouldn't hurt to point out to him that by now, Starfleet has got to be missing you, Jean-Luc."

He paused from what he was doing. "What do you mean?"

"You really think that once Starfleet hears rumors that you might be involved with the Maquis that they are not going to want to investigate? It would be better for Ragner if you are not on board his ship when a Starfleet patrol vessel comes by. I don't think Ragner's ship could survive a close inspection of its contents, flight plans or crew."

"That's why you've been so complacent about my becoming a Maquis, isn't it, Ro Laren?" His anger threatened to surface, as if he blamed her for his circumstances. "If I am involved with you for a great enough period of time, I will be considered to be Maquis whether or not I actually choose to join the Maquis. Guilt by association just simply because I am entangled with known Maquis dealers."

Her color heightened. She tried to control her temper too. "Don't blame me, Captain. You made your choice when you chose to return to rescue Mela."

"I could not choose my reputation over the lives of three innocent people," he retorted as his temper came closer to erupting

"Precisely." She gave him an insolent grin. "So, why are you angry with me?"

"Because as valid as my explanation is for my actions, you're one of the few people who would consider my actions to be reasonable under these circumstances," he ruefully acknowledged.   
"Merde." His anger vanished. He partially smiled as he added to his cursing, "Damn." 

"Damn right," she agreed. She checked some terminals herself. "Now, let us pray that Ragner is where he is supposed to be at the rendezvous point."

"In orbit about Abba IV. The planet has two moons, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Ragner always liked to take a stationery high orbit about the poles." She thought for a second. "You're going to put the Galen down on one of the moons, aren't you?"

"If I can find a cave, I can park her uncloaked."

Ro walked over to a panel by the bridge console and studied it. Suddenly she became excited. "Thank the prophets. This really is a smuggler's ship." Her smile was wicked as she pushed a button. She looked out the front view port and laughed. "Holographic camouflage. Look, Jean-Luc."

He couldn't see the nose of his ship. All he saw was stars. "Not cloaking?"

"No. If someone scans us, we'll show up on their sensors. But if they only look all they'll see is whatever we want them to see. Set the Galen down on the dark side of a moon, and unless someone is specifically scanning for us, they won't see us. They'll just see moonscape." She turned the camouflage off. "A few Maquis ships have this feature. It's an expensive one which is why only some of the ships have it."

"I have a feeling that I know why Starfleet has yet to catch you, Ro Laren."

"Now, why would Starfleet be after me?"

"I was."

"With any good fortune, you will be chasing after me again quite soon." She double-checked her own equipment. "And if you're really lucky, Jean-Luc Picard, I may even permit you to catch me." She jerked her head in the direction of the transporter pad. "Ready to go face the devil you know, Jean-Luc?"

"Almost." He made a few adjustments about the console. Then he inserted a chip into a port on the console. He walked over to the transporter. "Now, I'm ready."

She nodded. "Energize."

It took them eight hours, flying in tandem, before they reached Abba IV. The only pirates they met were the ones on board the Adama. The ones who had been looking for them had been chased away by Ragner.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Deanna was beginning to re-define her definition of hell. Besides being host to her mother, her hell now included being caught between Worf and Will. Ever since this business with the missing Captain Picard had started, both men were working efficiently together, the epitome of correct, professional Starfleet behavior. And both men were not speaking to Deanna Troi other than when they had absolutely no other choice necessary.

Deanna felt like a likely candidate for an intense immersion in primal scream therapy. She paced about the anteroom to Worf's office, waiting - waiting for something to happen other than more of her mother's machinations.

Oh, she had no proof that her mother had plotted this degrading farce. Her mother's protestations had been heart wrenchingly sincere. However, the image of Will's upraised tush waving in the breeze, as he was kneeling in front of Lwaxana's toes was a vision she was not likely to ever forget.

She wasn't about to forgive the manipulator who had arranged for such a scene to happen. There weren't enough houses in the Betazoid hierarchy for her mother to hide if Deanna ever got proof of her mother's involvement. Deanna would hunt her down.

In the meantime, she had to concentrate on what might have happened to Jean-Luc Picard. She hadn't sensed anything from the captain for many months. Physically searching for the man was proving fruitless.

She did however, rejoice over the news that Commander Geordi LaForge and Dr. Leah Brahms were getting married. Soon, if Deanna was any judge of Leah Brahms' determination.  
She sighed. At least someone was having good luck with their love life. She didn't even want to think about the names she could call the kind of luck she was having at the moment.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Lieutenant Commander Nella Daren sat on the chair facing her new captain who was seated behind his Bajoran burled wood desk in the Cairo's ready room. She was not intimidated by her new commanding officer. She had looked up everything she could find on Captain Edward Jellico. He seemed to be a reasonable man with a legendary, forthright style of command. Nella Daren could appreciate that. She watched him as he walked over to his replicator.

"Would you care for anything, Nella?"

Though surprised by his use of her first name she didn't let him know it. "Calaman sherry, please, Captain." She noted that he did not invite her to use his first name. She understood his command structure set-up now.

If he was surprised by her choice of refreshment, he did not show it as he handed her the sherry. He had ordered up a glass of milk.

"So, Nella, you once served on the Enterprise. I was her captain you know, for a while - long before Riker crashed her in to Veridian III." He shook his head. "How Picard could have let that man have responsibility for his ship, I do not know. You know about Commander Will Riker?"

"Only met the commander briefly, for a few times. We did not see eye-to-eye when it came to stellar cartography."

By her very attitude, Jellico now believed that Nella was not fond of Will Riker either.

"Tell me about Jean-Luc Picard. What was he like?"

Now, Nella was surprised by his question. Though she had not kept her relationship with Jean-Luc a secret, they had been discreet and mention of their relationship had never been found in any official Starfleet record. Besides, personal life had always been considered private and off-limits by Starfleet. For a commanding officer to make what sounded to her like a formal inquiry without sufficient reason, was a major breach of conduct. She hadn't thought that the status of Jean-Luc Picard had reached that level of urgency. She carefully chose her words.

"What did you wish to know, Captain?"

"After working under Captain Picard, do you think that he has gone over to the Maquis?"

She considered his words. "I only discussed stellar cartography and music with Captain Picard, during the short time that I was on board the Enterprise. Besides, when I was on board her, the Maquis was not yet perceived to be a threat."

"How well did you know the man?"

"We were friends."

"Do you think that he could have left Starfleet for the Maquis?"

"I'm sure that Captain Picard would leave Starfleet if he so wished it. But I don't think that the Maquis would tempt him. He seemed too dedicated to his duty to Starfleet to have his core beliefs questioned."

"My assessment of the man exactly. I'm proceeding with this investigation under the assumption that whatever his involvement is with the problems of this sector, it is by involuntary participation."

Her eyes widened as she realized the import of what Jellico was saying. Apparently there were other Starfleet officers who were assuming that Jean-Luc Picard had willingly disappeared.

"Anything that you can tell me might help."

"Captain, there was one thing that I noticed when I was reading the reports of what happened to the Unk." She looked at him expectantly as she sipped her sherry.

"Continue."

"Besides a J. Picard being on the passenger list, there was also a mention of a mother and her two children."

"And Jean-Luc Picard would not abandon a mother and her family. If they were able to get off the ship alive…"

"They'd be together. He'd be trying to get them to wherever it was that they would be safe. According to what Mr. Data has uncovered, the woman - a Mela Torrez - was on her way to join her husband at Tohvun V."

Jellico nodded in agreement. "And that's where I am going to focus our search - using Tohvun as the center of an ever-expanding pattern of search." He stood thinking for a moment. "I'd give anything to get Mr. Data as one of my officers. I liked having him as my First Officer when I was on board the Enterprise. I asked him to come to the Cairo. He refused."

"Data is a close friend of mine. We share similar musical interests. He's quite an artiste himself. I'll contact him to see if he'd reconsider coming to the Cairo." She smiled thinking about her absent friend. "If there is anyone who can write their own ticket at Starfleet Command, it is Mr. Data. Only thing you have to do, Captain, is convince Data of the disadvantages of being Earth's only unemployed android composer."

Nella finished off her sherry, and then more closely observed the walls behind Jellico's desk. "Now, Captain, care to tell me who did these nice drawings of horses?"

"Actually, I think they're Vulcan elands." He pulled down one of the drawings, touching it with fondness. "I am looking forward to one day receiving command of a Galaxy class starship. Ever since my wife died, I've felt the desire to have my son with me. Unlike other Nebula class ships, the Cairo was too old to be outfitted for families." He stepped around his desk toward the door to the bridge. "Once I get command of the Enterprise E, I can arrange for my son to finally join me. His mother, Lord rest her soul, would never consider living on board a star ship. She hated space travel. I never did understand why she chose to marry a Starfleet officer." He abruptly stopped speaking, surprised by his own willingness to tell such personal information to one of his own officers. And a new one to boot.

Nella filed away the mention of his family for future reference. Instead, she paid attention to what he said about his future plans. "You're going to be the next captain of the Enterprise?"

"I'm at the top of the list. I should get my choice of commands when the new Galaxy class ships are ready."

Nella didn't think it prudent to mention anything about counting one's chickens. She couldn't help but contrast this man with other captains that she had known.

She stood, then brightly asked, "Now, let me tell you about the changes I've ordered in stellar cartography. I'm sure you'll agree. Captain Picard did…"

"I'll look over your plans." He motioned for her to sit again. "You were mentioning that you're a musician. I consider myself to be an amateur musician as well. I'm a baritone. And a collector of rare recordings. Especially musicals and film scores of the 20th and 21st centuries…"

=/\= =/\= =/\=

"Captain Ragner, I come bearing a peace offering. A thank you gift as it were, for saving my life. And the life of my friends."

The disruptors pointed at Jean-Luc Picard and Ro Laren did not waver an iota.

Jean-Luc Picard looked about the bridge of the Adama, displaying a confidence that Ragner grudgingly admitted to himself, did impress him. This man had guramba.

"I can still kill you Johnny, and get my gifts," Ragner practically stated, barely suppressing his anger at being fooled by these two vermin.

"Not without gaining my access codes," Picard politely replied. "You cannot use either the photon torpedoes or the quantum torpedo on board the Starbuck without my releasing control over   
to you. Otherwise, they will back fire a second after you launch them."

Ragner laughed broadly. Picard did not sense any good will behind the sound.

"I should have known that the great Captain Picard would not be a fool." He laughed again. Ragner placed his large hands around Ro's neck. If he squeezed, she would be dead.  
Picard didn't flinch.

"Him, I can forgive, Laren. By the Volorian gods, I'd have been disappointed if he hadn't displayed some signs of his legendary cunning. But you, Ro Laren…"

She knew that if Jean-Luc hadn't been there, she'd be on her way to a very slow, painful torturous death. She'd crossed the line when she'd lied to Ragner. Ragner would never forgive her. She knew that he would exact his revenge against her - Maquis be damned.

"Ragner." Picard interrupted Ragner's imaginings. "Ro Laren is my officer. She comes with Mela, the children and me."

"No."

Picard continued speaking as if Ragner hadn't said anything. He looked at the men standing about the bridge, then over and Mela and her children. Ragner had ordered them dragged up to the bridge the moment Picard had beamed onto the bridge of the Adama.

Picard addressed the crew as well as Ragner. "Starfleet wants me. You all know that. When we are all off of this ship, you will be safe. Otherwise you will all become the subject of Starfleet's undivided attention. Give us the Starbuck and we will leave. I'll take it back to Thelka and leave it there. The next time you go there for supplies, you can pick it up."

"You can have the Starbuck," Ragner graciously conceded. "But you can't take Ro Laren. She is mine." Ragner released the Bajoran then pointed his disruptor at her. "I will kill her now. Solves the problem."

Mela stepped defiantly in front of Ro. "No."

Mela barely knew Ro Laren. But she knew that this woman was her savior's friend. After this man had come back for her and her children, she could do nothing else but try to protect John Luke's lady.

Picard's estimation of Mela rose greatly. Even Ragner was impressed by her bravery, though he did nothing to show it.

But before the captains could continue their showdown, one of the crew started cursing. Proximity alarms started screeching. And then Ragner started filling the air with his curses too.  
"Federation starship!" Ragner swore.

Picard walked to a comm panel and brought up a screen with the ship on it. No one stopped him. "The Cairo," he announced. He turned to look at Ragner. "Our negotiations are finished, Ragner. You have a choice to make. Let us transport over to the Cairo - or live the rest of your life in a Federation prison."

"I could disintegrate all of you."

"Then you'd still be a guest of the Federation. You possess a quantum torpedo which is a serious offense. You will become a prisoner of the very people who might be inclined to turn you over to local jurisdiction." He redirected his words toward Ro. "I wonder who has control of Abba IV?"

"It is in Klingon space." She smiled at Ragner. It wasn't a nice smile. "You still great friends with the Klingons, Ragner?"

Before Ragner could form an appropriate response, the Adama was hailed by the Cairo.

Two minutes later Picard picked up Jory and Harla, and then walked over to Mela. They were ready to be beamed over to the Cairo.

"Ro comes with me," he warned, when the men surrounding Ro did not move.

"No. Be grateful that I am letting the four of you go - alive." He grumbled, "I hate losing another cook - especially a good one."

"Captain Ragner, Ro Laren must come with us. You have no choice."

"I have many choices, Picard. Blasting you as you beam over is one of them."

"Lieutenant Ro Laren is wanted by the Federation. If you harbor her, you will be aiding a criminal. You'll know no peace."

Ro blinked in surprise as Picard's words, but smiled to herself understanding what he was doing. Or so she thought…

Ragner hesitated. But he saw something in Picard's stare. "As I live and breathe, I think that you are telling me the truth this time, Johnny Picard." He glanced over at Ro. "I almost pity you, Bajoran. Your lover is ruthless." He nodded at his men. "Let them all go. As a good citizen of the Federation, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, I am no block to Starfleet justice."

Moments later, Ro, Mela and the twins, and Picard stepped off the platform on board the Cairo. There was nothing different about this ship's transporter room other than the fact that they were greeted by Captain Jellico, Nella Daren and three security officers.

"Good to see you again, Captain Picard." Jellico formally greeted him. He started to extend his hand, then realized what precious cargo Picard was carrying.

"Good to be on board your ship, Captain Jellico," Picard politely replied. He acted as if he were distracted. As if being rescued were an everyday occurrence of little note. He handed Harla to a nearby security guard and then came over to Nella and silently handed her Jory. He could afford no feelings about suddenly being reunited with Nella at this juncture. His thoughts were   
focused elsewhere.

"This is Jory and Harla Torez. And their mother, Mela Torez. Please take them to sickbay for a physical. They have had a rather trying time of it over the past few weeks."

"You get checked over too, Jean-Luc," Jellico ordered.

"Later." He turned to another security office and handed the Pentarian security guard the two phasers he'd been carrying. He then jerked his head in Ro's direction. The third guard took Ro's weapons. She willingly complied with Jean-Luc's unspoken request. Being heavily armed was not the best way for Ro Laren to start her re-integration into Federation space.

"Now, Jean-Luc," Captain Jellico sternly remarked, "I know how much you dislike visits to Sickbay. I saw the way you treated Dr. Crusher. But before I call the Admiralty, I want a full report on all that has happened to you. And your condition." He walked over to Ro Laren and extended his hand. "Young lady, I am Captain Edward Jellico. And you are?"

Picard spoke before Ro could answer. His stentorian voice filled the room.

"Captain Edward Jellico, this is former Starfleet Lieutenant Ro Laren. There are warrants for her arrest on charges of treason and desertion from Starfleet. There will be other charges pending as well since she is now Maquis. Place her under arrest and throw her in the brig." Picard's voice was cold, bereft of emotion. He did not look at her as he spoke.

"Wh….what?" she gasped. She must have misunderstood him. He must be playacting…

Picard stepped in front of her and stared at her. For a brief moment - an eternity - their eyes locked. Ro Laren saw something there that panicked her more than all the renegade Cardassians in the Zone. His icy glare slashed through her very heart.

He turned at looked at Jellico. "Ro was under my command on board the Enterprise D when she betrayed Starfleet. Arrest her."

"But… you said… you told me that there were no charges…"

He refused to look at her.

Ro Laren's universe was crumbling again. She began to comprehend what Jean-Luc Picard was doing to her. Her heart filled with rage even as her soul clung to a dwindling hope.

"YOU LIED TO ME!"

She had been betrayed. She flew at him, all-consuming Bajoran fury lending strength to her actions. Her hands curled into dangerous claws as she went for his face.

A phaser blast stopped her attack before she reached Picard. Jellico's security guards were well-trained.

Picard didn't move, letting her unconscious body fall to the deck. She crumpled like a broken doll. Which she now was…

Picard stepped over her, looking down at Ro with passionless eyes. "Take her to the brig. If she needs medical attention, have it done there. She's too clever, Captain. Have a care."

A somewhat stunned Captain Jellico nodded toward his guards to comply. He didn't protest that a man who technically was not a Starfleet captain had no right to give orders on board the Cairo. He suspected that Jean-Luc would be returning to Starfleet the moment an admiral could be reached.

Jellico did not quite believe what had just happened. He had formed an opinion about Picard's character a long time ago. And that opinion had not included this kind of behavior.

Mela stepped over to Jean-Luc, looking down at Ro Laren. Her confusion was mirrored in her eyes. "I do not understand. I thought that you liked her - that you were lovers."

Jellico reacted to this bit of information.

"Mela, you don't understand what is going on here. I will explain it all to you later." With that, he dismissed Ro Laren and Mela, and turned, walking out of the door, unwilling to say or do anything more.

Mela tried to reconcile the laughing man that had once shared her vegetable stew, who had risked his life time and again to save her children, with the grim, soulless man who had just so heartlessly betrayed his lover.

Captain Jellico strode toward the door, extending his arm to Mela. He needed to hear more about what had happened between Picard and the Bajoran. "Ma'am. Shall I escort you to Sickbay?" He was mindful of her delicate condition.

Mela nodded, needing the support of Jellico's arm. She was feeling rather nauseous.

Watching additional security come into the transporter room to pick up the unfortunate Bajoran, Nella Daren archly commented, "Welcome to the Cairo, Jean-Luc Picard. You do know how to make a memorable entrance."

With that, she went to Sickbay too, carrying Jory. The now wide-eyed young man was impressed and more interested in discovering what was going on about him on board a real genuine Federation starship than with the melodrama that had just occurred.

 

=/\= =/\= =/\=

In the brig, something hissed behind Ro's ear. She groggily opened her eyes as the stimulant flooded through her, knowing that somehow, facing consciousness was the last thing she really wanted to do. She finally focused on the face hovering over her. It was an impassive Vulcan face.

"Selar, isn't it?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Ro. It is good to see you again. I am sorry about the circumstances. I am the CMO on board the Cairo. Captain Jellico wants to see you in about an hour. I will return when it is time for you to go."

When Dr. Selar left, Ro gritted her teeth. Slowly she moved into an upright position, weakly resting her head on the metal bulkhead.

All alone, in trouble and in the brig… My life, all right…

She concentrated on the immediate, the physical at first. A phaser stun, even at the weakest setting, was still not a pleasant event. Just forcing her muscles to move in any semblance of order took great effort. After a few moments of testing her muscles, she gave in to the weariness controlling her body, deciding to wait a little while longer before she tried to stand. After all, it wasn't as if she had anywhere important to go…

Then the shuddering started. In her stomach at first, then wave after wave working its way outwards until the tremors reached her toes. She couldn't stop it, couldn't control it. And she didn't want to. The pain helped her to focus.

After a few minutes, she was so weak, she could barely breathe. A heavy weight pressed against her heart. She could focus on nothing but her own pain - and its source - Jean -Luc Picard. 

She'd been a fool to trust him.

She couldn't actually blame him for everything - only for part of it. He had warned her. He had been true to his duty, his nature. She was the blind one, who had foolishly followed what her heart wanted to believe and not the reality of the man she had known. Now, she was going to pay for all of her sins, many times over.

An hour later, clean, and wearing a tan shantung silk shirt and matching rough woven slacks, Jean-Luc Picard sipped a cup of hot Earl Grey tea that actually tasted like it was supposed to   
taste. He was sitting in Jellico's ready room. He was comfortable in these surroundings, somewhat surprised that he felt no desire to be sitting behind the other side of the desk.

"That's quite a tale, Jean-Luc," Jellico commented as he turned off his view screen. "I can hardly wait to hear from Admiral Nechayev when she reads your report." He paused for a moment, making a notation on his padd. "I'm going to recommend a warrant be made for Captain Ragner and his crew. You should have told me about them sooner, Jean-Luc. Right now, they are probably light years away."

"They are only a small part of the Maquis pipeline. With what I uncovered on board the Adama as well as learned on Thelka II, the Federation can go after them at any time when they are in Federation space. For now, I think it would be wise if we just wait and let Captain Ragner reveal by his actions, who his contacts are in the Federation. Someone is supplying them with quantum torpedoes."

"You just told me that Ragner has one on board his ship. That alone is reason to stop him."

"I disabled that torpedo before I gave it to him. Even if Ragner can get inside of the casing without setting off the auto-destruct programming, I still had the encrypted command codes in my pocket when I left the Adama. Not even the maker of the torpedo could get it operating again. And Ragner doesn't have the kind of engineering intelligence among his crew that would be necessary to get even that far. Ro Laren was the only one of his crew with any real intellect."

Jellico put down his glass of milk, glancing about the off-white and grey walls of his ready room. He mentally compared this room to the one that had once existed on board the Enterprise. He had not cared for Picard's choice of décor.

"I don't understand, Jean-Luc. I took Mela Torez's statements myself. According to her, you and Lieutenant Ro were lovers within hours of your capture. She saved your life. Yet, you brought her back to the Federation to stand trial."

"Lieutenant Ro was willing to be my lover in order to convince Ragner that I could not be the Captain Picard. Ragner knew enough about my reputation to know that I would never consort with someone such as Ro Laren. The fact that she greeted me as a lover, and created the illusion that we have been lovers before, saved my life." Picard put down his mug and walked over to the star portal, looking at the stars for a while. "I will help her if I can, at her trial. But that will be the extent of the fulfilling of my obligation to the woman."

"Why didn't you leave her on board the Adama? That's where you found her in the first place. She didn't ask you to bring her on board the Cairo, did she? I don't understand."

"Aside from what she owed me when she deserted the Enterprise, Ro Laren is a wanted criminal, Captain Jellico. I could not leave her behind and let her escape. That would have made me derelict in my duty."

Jellico said nothing, pondering the man across from him. He did not recognize this Captain Picard. "So you tricked Ro Laren into coming on board a Federation starship?"

"Yes. I told her that Will Riker had not put everything in his reports about her actions concerning the Maquis."

"You lied?" He was amazed that he even had to ask Jean-Luc Picard this question.

"I did my duty, Captain Jellico." Captain Picard's demeanor became even more icy.

Jellico nodded, accepting the words. He reached over and touched his terminal. "Lieutenant Lemus, if the prisoner is capable of moving, bring Ro Laren to my ready room."

Jean-Luc returned to his chair and sipped more tea, just watching Jellico. "Is that necessary?"

"I need her statement, Jean-Luc. I find that taking one in the brig is not conducive to openness."

Picard stood, placing his mug on Jellico's desk. "I will leave you alone."

Jellico chose not to make this easy for Picard. "Please stay, Captain Picard. I'll need your assistance to determine how much of what she tells me is really the truth. I've just read the   
lieutenant's Starfleet record. She was quite a hard case even before she joined the Maquis."

"Yes, she was that, Captain Jellico." Picard went to the replicator and ordered up a double strong, double sweet coffee as well as more tea for himself. Then he returned to his chair to wait for Ro's arrival.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

"I don't want to see him."

"You don't have a choice, Lieutenant."

"I'd really rather not," Ro whispered as her memories churned in her head. "Besides, I was just starting to fall asleep." She just wanted to curl up into a tight little ball and ignore the world forever.

Selar offered Ro her hand.

She sat up, suddenly feeling ill, dizzy. Another hypo spray shot was administered. Now she felt only ill - no dizziness. Numbness penetrated her thoughts. Slowly she stood, hoping that she could keep the numbness. For once she started to feel again, she didn't think that she would be able to face the truth.  
Jean-Luc Picard had betrayed her. Her lover. Her friend. The man she had adored…

She'd been beaten down, devastated for the last time. All that was left for her was a bleak existence with no color or warmth at all in it. She didn't have the strength to go on. She was ravaged, stripped, destroyed…

"The captain is waiting," Selar reminded her.

"Like I should care? What's he going to do to me if I'm late? Throw me in the brig?"

Ro tentatively stepped over to the cell's sink and splashed cold water on her face. This didn't revive her enough. She looked bleary in the mirror. And came to the conclusion that no one was likely to call her a raving beauty at the moment. She finally noticed that someone had changed her clothing. She was now wearing a dull grey standard issue jumpsuit which was a far cry from the vibrant red outfit that she'd worn on Thelka II.

Deciding that she could no longer delay the inevitable, she walked over to the force field, waiting for the guard to drop it. She also wondered what Jean-Luc had told them about her, for apparently her escort to the captain's ready room consisted of four security guards.

Her head pounded with the sudden agonizing thought of Jean-Luc Picard. And with it returned a sense of purpose to her life. If it was the last thing she ever did, she was going to make him pay. She was going to show him how true Bajorans exacted revenge. She would list all of his crimes against her and proclaim his evil deeds to the prophets. They would cry out for justice for her. Right now, the only thing that gave her strength was her anger. It was enough - she hoped.

She found with every step that she took toward the ready room, that her energy was returning. When the turbo lift opened up onto the bridge, she walked forward with almost all of her insubordinate attitude that was her trademark, intact.

Ro glanced toward the main view screen. Startled, she saw that the grey to orange planet in the view screen, was Abba IV. They were still in orbit. As was her habit when she was nervous, her hand went to play with her Bajoran earring. She stumbled, doing her best to hide her shock at feeling the earring. She still had her earring. It hadn't been taken away from her.

Moving slowly, jerkily, as if she were still suffering from the aftereffects of the phaser stun, she stepped closer to the command chair, and just innocently looked about.

"Far cry from the Enterprise," she arrogantly announced to the bridge crew. "None of you would have made it there. I heard that your captain didn't."

Before they could react to her rude words, she had seen what she needed to know. The shields were down.

Listlessly moving so that she surprised her guards, she pressed her earring and prayed. The woozy disorienting feeling of transportation filled her body. The last thing she saw were guards starting to raise their weapons in her direction. But it was too late. She was gone.

The bridge crew's cries were heard in the ready room. The captains emerged and learned of Ro's escape.

"Merde! There may be vessels in the area. Check the polar orbits. That's a Maquis trick to hide their ships' signature."

Jellico barked orders as he crew began searching for the ship or ships that had rescued Ro Laren.

Twenty minutes later, when no trace of her had been found, Picard asked the officer who had apparently been in charge of the Bajoran, "Didn't you scan Ro?"

"No. We searched her," Jellico's second officer, a Lieutenant Mordock deferentially answered.

"We took all of her clothing and weaponry."

"And her earring?" Picard testily asked, acting like the captain he had been born to be. "Did you remove it?"

"Of course not," the Benzite replied, still almost in awe of this man. His only personal contact with Captain Picard had been through Wesley Crusher. Wesley's stories about the man had impressed him. Then he remembered that he actually was supposed to be answering this captain's questions. "I could nor remove her earring. It is part of the Bajoran worship ritual. I would not dream of interfering with another race's sacred customs."

"Of course not." Picard looked at Jellico. All of his accusations about the competence of this crew went unspoken. But Jellico knew them. Picard pivoted, walking away from the bridge to the turbo lift door. "I'll be in my quarters if you have a need of me, Captain Jellico."

He didn't need to say anything more. Jellico knew that Picard didn't think that his crew would be able to catch up with Ro Laren.

One more time, Jellico resented Picard's arrogance. He still did not understand this man. All he knew was that now, Starfleet was going to blame him for Ro Laren's escape. And they would be right. He turned and stared at his Benzite officer, then sighed. This officer had done nothing wrong or against regulations. The only problem was that the Benzite just did not think like a renegade warrior. And how do you discipline against that?

An hour later, Ro Laren decided that her breath could finally return back to normal. Her first instinctive action when she'd arrived on board the Galen, had been to blast off of the second moon of Abba IV and take her chances. Then she saw the rumpled sheets of a bed that they both had not bothered to make, only hours earlier. And she started to think - to really try to understand all that had just happened. Waiting seemed to be the wisest move.

Jean-Luc Picard knew where she was. Now, all she had to do was wait and see if he was going to do anything about it. If she didn't take off from the moon, she stood a better chance to avoid detection, provided Picard did not reveal her position. And so far, he had not.

She didn't know what to think about all that had happened. If she ended up back in Jellico's custody, she'd finally know the truth about the kind of man that Jean-Luc Picard was. And what she had meant to him. That is, if she'd meant anything at all to him.

Eight hours later, she decided that she could risk turning on her scanners to check the area. If Federation vessels had not recently acquired their own cloaking devices, then there was no one in orbit about Abba IV. She was safe.

Deciding to stay where she was for the moment, she collapsed onto the bed, desperately needing some sleep. Her last thoughts before she journeyed with Morpheus was that the pillows still carried his scent…

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Jean-Luc Picard leaned over the crib in the Cairo's sickbay, and smiled down at his new godson, John Luke Torez. He'd spent the last two hours with Mela, holding her hand during her labor as she gave birth to her newest son.

The baby boy was beautiful, with ten perfect little fingers and ten perfect little toes. Jean-Luc had counted them. And then Jean-Luc carefully picked up the boy and held him, holding the infant's head correctly, rocking the boy slightly.

Dr. Selar was impressed that this man knew the proper way to hold a new-born infant. She didn't notice the sad expression on Jean-Luc's face as he remembered another time, another son… Still holding the baby, Jean-Luc crossed over to where Mela was, smiling happily down at the lady.

"He's beautiful, Mela. Perfect. Your husband will be so proud when he sees him:" He reached down and gently placed the babe in his mother's arms. "You know, you don't have to burden the boy with my name. I'll understand if your husband has another preference."

"Johnny, don't be an idiot," Mela chided.

It had been a long time since anyone had ever called him an idiot to his face. Picard smiled at the thought. But then, a look crossed over Mela's face, and Picard guessed at what was troubling her. He leaned over and whispered into her ear, "Captain Jellico has already started searching for information about your husband, Mela. We will find him. I promise."

"And Ro Laren?"

He winced at the thought of her. "I'll discuss the lady with you at another time."

She grabbed his arm as he started to move away from the bedside. "I heard the nurses talking. Ro Laren escaped."

"Yes. Ro outsmarted all of us," Jean-Luc admitted.

"I don't think that she did - not all of you." Her soft voice revealed her exhaustion. "Knew you weren't a bad man, Johnny…" Mela fell asleep.

Jean-Luc gingerly removed the baby from Mela's arms, pleased that the boy was not crying yet. He returned the baby to his crib, then stood there, watching as the infant fell asleep.

Dr. Seal came over to them, having been observing her former captain from a distance.

"I do not understand." Her voice was soft as she did not wish to disturb the baby.

"What, Dr. Selar?"

"It was always something that was understood on board the Enterprise that you were not accustomed to children, that you did not like children, and that you did not wish to be bothered by children."

"And?"

"I have seen evidence that proves otherwise, Captain Picard."

“I'm this child's godfather," Picard argued.

Selar bestowed on Picard a knowing smile. "I remember the times you used to come to the maternity ward, and greeted every new arrival. Most definitely the logical actions of a man who did not like children."

"Dr. Selar."

"Yes, Captain?"

"I think I underestimated just how much of a saint Beverly Crusher was for having put up with you all of those years."

"Captain, I have always said that Dr. Crusher was the saint for tolerating you."

Picard blinked, speechless in the presence of a Vulcan with a sense of witty repartee. He suddenly regretted not having gotten to know the Vulcaness better when she'd been one of his officers.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Wearily, Ro Laren picked up the almost empty tea mug that had been sitting by the comm panel. She was surprised that Jean-Luc had actually been drinking a beverage near one of his precious comm panels. She had always thought that his number one unwritten law on board the Enterprise had been no liquids near the comm board. Something about an early encounter   
with hot chocolate had been the catalyst for that rule.

However, it was nice to know that Jean-Luc was not too perfect. He occasionally showed a more human side. She sighed, remembering just how human the man could be. Those remembrances were going to haunt her for a very long time.

Looking about the bridge of the Galen, she sighed again. She wasn't sure where she should go in this galaxy. Her schedule of meetings with the Maquis contacts had been thrown off by the mess with Ragner. They were not expecting her at the rendezvous point for several days. She knew that they'd welcome her and most especially this ship. But there was a portion of her conscience that wasn't so sure that it was right for the Maquis to have this ship.

Touching the comm, she started to compose a coded signal to the closest Maquis listening outpost. Suddenly something beeped. Startled, she looked about, trying to locate the source of the beeping. There was a communications chip on the board that shouldn't be there. Ro Laren played it.

Somehow, she wasn't that surprised when the image of Jean-Luc filled a view screen.

It began:

Ro Laren. If you are seeing this message, then I am not on board the Galen with you. Hopefully, this means that I am just elsewhere, preferably on board a Federation ship. And not that I am dead.

Until we meet again, and I do have this feeling that we will meet again, take care of the Galen for me.

I put the remainder of the credits that we won on Thelka II in a special account for you with DaiMon Behlk. Use it to keep this ship operating the way she should be kept. And use any of the excess money to buy food and medical supplies as you see fit. I will trust in your conscience not to buy weapons to be used against Starfleet, Ro Laren.

So, take care of yourself, ma belle. I hope that the next time we meet, we meet in peace as friends. You still owe me some truths including what really happened on Garon II. Goodbye, Laren. I will miss you. Jean-Luc Picard out.

The message ended. Jean-Luc Picard must have made the recording when she'd been sleeping. For a long time, Ro just sat there, tears streaming down her face. She hadn't cried when she'd been court-martialed. She hadn't cried when Admiral Kennelly had almost trapped her in his stupid plotting when he'd been duped by the Cardassians. She hadn't cried when a transporter accident had turned her into a child and she had finally admitted to herself how much she'd missed her mother. She hadn't cried when her father had died; when the Cardassians had raped and then tortured her. She hadn't cried on Garon II. Or afterwards.

She hadn't cried at any of those times - so why was she crying now?

Powering up the engines, she headed away from Abba IV, hoping to find some answers to her life written somewhere in the stars.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Riker decided to pour himself another cup of coffee. He had to admit that Mr. Homm did have his uses. The man certainly could brew a good cup of coffee.

He was amazed that after all that had happened during the past few days, only fifty hours of real time had passed. He had not even had a chance to round up his cadets to go search for Captain Picard. Aside from his relief that Jean-Luc was okay, he was disappointed that he had not had the chance to test his cadets in a real-life situation. Not that he was in much accord with Worf at the moment, but he suspected that even Worf was disgruntled over the fact that the Klingon hadn't been able to call out the marines.

Riker went back to his seat at the breakfast table in a charming nook that overlooked two different gardens. Both were quite beautiful, peaceful, and relaxing. He felt like that at the moment. As long as Worf or Deanna didn't come into the room, he would stay that way too.

He'd been surprised when Lwaxana had invited him to stay here. She'd used Captain Picard's disappearance as the reason for the invitation.

On top of everything else, to further complicate relationships, Worf's parent were due back today too. He wondered how Worf was going to handle their finding out about the events of a certain red-letter evening.

Riker stretched back against his chair, propping his feet up against a rock flower pot ledge by one of the many bay windows in the room. Once he'd been assured that Jean-Luc was all right, Riker had found the time to unwind and think about his situation with Deanna. Some of her accusations, both verbal and silent, had been dead-on correct. It had been his own ego, his own   
needs, that had been driving him to interfere with Worf and Deanna's relationship. He really hadn't been ready to give Deanna up. And now, thanks to his insensitive behavior, plus some meddling on the part of a woman who remained officially unidentified, both Worf as well as himself might be forever estranged from Deanna.

Will Riker didn't like himself much at the moment. He wondered what he could do to make amends to both Worf and Deanna.

There was an absence of sound from behind his back. He didn't need to turn and look. He recognized in a second that it was Worf who had entered the breakfast room.

"Coffee's quite strong," Will announced into the air in general. "There's prune juice, too."

"Lwaxana Troi cannot bribe me with prune juice," Worf commented. He then picked up a Betazoid version of a pear and bit it in half. He then put it down on a buffet plate, poured himself some of the prune juice, and sat down on the other side of the glazed yellow Jalaran bamboo table. He sat opposite of Riker.

"There is no meat," he remarked.

"I'm sure that Mr. Homm will bring some shortly." Riker did have to comment upon Worf's legendary appetite. Anyone who lived around the Klingon for more than a day would have noticed Worf's very conspicuous consumption of thousands of calories.

A moment later Mr. Homm came in with a tea cart holding many covered entrée dishes. He placed the larger of the old Earth style silver dishes in front of Mr. Worf. After Mr. Homm left, Worf opened up the telescoping cover and sniffed. "Rokeg blood pie." He stuck a spoon inside of the dish and pulled out a morsel. He ate it. For the first time he directly looked at Will Riker. 

"Lwaxana Troi is trying to bribe me."

"I know you can't be bought, Worf. So go ahead, and enjoy your spoils." Riker opened up the dish that had been placed in front of him. "I've got oatmeal. Deanna must have told Mr. Homm how much I loathe oatmeal."

"I did," Worf honestly admitted.

Riker acknowledged Mr. Worf's confession with a slight nod. Then he tried a tablespoon full of the oatmeal. It was worse than he remembered. He drank more coffee and waited. There had to be a reason why Worf was sitting here, joining him for breakfast.

"What's on your mind, Worf?" Will casually asked. He didn't mind being the first one to bend. He owed Worf and Deanna that much.

Worf looked at him, then returned to eating his breakfast. When he finished all of the pie, he put down his silver spoon. Now, he was ready to speak.

"I do not blame you for what happened the other night."

"Magnanimous of you, Mr. Worf."

"There is a problem."

"True, Worf. All too true."

"Deanna still desires you."

"No, Worf. What happened the other night has little to do with her real desires."

"No." He smashed his fist down onto the table. Plates rattled, coffee sloshed over onto the tablecloth. "I will not let you avoid facing this, Captain!"

"I think under the circumstances, you'd better get used to calling me Will."

"WILL! You are avoiding the issue again." This time he glared at Riker with contempt. "I had not thought you a coward."

Only Worf could have gotten away with saying that to Riker.

"How so?" Will asked; his voice was mild, controlled.

"Deanna is your Imzadi, Will."

"I know that, Worf."

"She will be my wife."

"Congratulations, Worf."

"I have yet to inform Deanna of my decision."

Riker drained his coffee then went to get another cup. He mentally debated whether or not he wanted to be around when Worf discussed this matter with Deanna. On one hand, it was their business. But, on the other hand, it would be one hell of an entertaining scene, and considering recent events, a scene to which he was more than entitled to see.

"Worf," he cautioned.

"I have investigated Betazed law," Worf announced.

"And?" Riker wasn't sure where this conversation with Worf was going.

"Deanna may have two husbands. Betazed females need strong men when they enter the Phase."

"So you finally learned about the Phase, eh, Worf?"

Worf permitted himself a slight smile. "I am surprised that there are not more Klingon-Betazed matings. They are a worthy race for a Klingon warrior."

Riker could not think of an appropriate comment for this statement, so he drank some more coffee. Then he reached for some toast and started spreading some black uttaberry jam on it.   
Waving his knife about, he casually asked, "So you would be husband Number One?"

"I would enjoy calling you Husband Number Two," Worf stated, relishing the sound of it.

Will wasn't sure if he should be insulted or not. "Why wouldn't I be Husband Number One?"

"Because you would not be around that often. I intend to live with Deanna."

"And so, I'm just supposed to come visit now and then?"

"Yes." Worf tackled the second entrée dish that Mr. Homm had placed before him. It was a bitter fruit comfit that only a Klingon would like.

Will watched Worf eat for a while before he got up enough curiosity to ask, "And Deanna's agreed to this?"

"She will."

Will privately wondered about Worf's naïve opinion of Deanna's tractability. He contemplated Deanna's possible reactions.

"What if I do not want to stay married to Deanna? If you're going to live with her, what do I do when I am not around the lady?"

"What you already do when you are around the lady, Will Riker."

"Are you saying that because of my lack of commitment toward Deanna, you expect me to have other women besides Deanna?"

Worf just looked at him, not wanting to give voice to all of the things that were most likely with Captain Riker.

"All right, Worf. I'll concede that you will be a more loyal husband that I ever could be. But I've always been true to Deanna in my fashion."

"It is because of your devotion to your Imzadi that I am even considering this solution, Will."

Riker couldn't dispute Worf's point. Other than Deanna and Soren, Will's love life had always been held on a most superficial level.

Riker started to consider other possible problems. "What about children?"

"I would assume responsibility for any of Deanna's children." He stared at Will Riker before adding, “You will do the same. They will become our children."

"Including Alexander?"

Worf nodded in agreement.

Riker couldn't argue with this. "You would share Deanna with me?"

Worf grimaced. "Never at the same time again, Will Riker."

Will could only agree with this. He never wanted to experience another night like the last one he'd shared with Worf and Deanna.

Worf explained, "Deanna could not survive the competition between two warriors."

Will blinked at this bit of news. "What?"

"Two lovers at the same time - it would become a rivalry between us - to see who could pleasure Deanna the most. She would not survive."

"So out of concern for Deanna's life you are suggesting one bed at a time?"

"Yes."

Will Riker was momentarily speechless as the imagery of Worf's suggestions were crossing through his thoughts.

"Klingons may have more than one mate," Worf mentioned, explaining his decision from another angle on the subject.

"Really?"

"Usually it is the male who has two wives," Worf grunted. "But, there is no law against the reverse."

"Open marriages are not that uncommon in the Federation, either," Riker mused, as he began to realize that Worf was completely serious about they both becoming Deanna's husbands. There would be problems, but it was a feasible solution…

"We can work things out," Worf announced, feeling more confident about matters than Will Riker. But then, he'd had more time to consider all of the ramifications of such a step.

"How will we…" Riker paused for a moment, searching for the right words. "er, Deanna will decide which bed she will share when both of us are, er, available."

Worf put down his spoon and stared at Will.

"No." He resumed eating.

For a moment, Riker was speechless. "I want to be around when you tell Deanna that, Worf." He grinned. His sense of humor was finally asserting itself again. "When she is finished with you, I promise to honor your passing with the Klingon Death Yell."

Worf sent him a disgusted look. "This is a serious matter, Will Riker."

“I know that, Worf." Will tried another tack. "So, why don't you want Deanna to choose which bed in which she'll lie?"

"Because of you. Because we are friends."

Will was confused. "Come again, Mister?"

"If we are both available and if she keeps picking one of us over the other, we both will lose…" Worf searched for the correct word, "…harmony. There will be dissension between us over her choice. And we must not ever fight over Deanna…"

"On that point, I do agree, Worf."

Worf reached for the next entrée dish and started eating grilled aftafa melons.

Will waited, grabbing another cup of coffee. When Worf tackled the second melon, he curtly asked, "So what will we do to decide who gets the lady?"

"Poker."

Will dropped his cup, splashing coffee over the front of his uniform.

"Come again?" he choked.

"Chance. Fate will decide."

"I really have to be there when you tell Deanna all of this." His grin was silly at the thought of it.

"There is no need to tell Deanna. She will accept our decisions in this matter."

Will choked, suddenly turning the sound into a hiccup. "What? Are we (hiccup) both talking about the same Deanna Troi? (hiccup hiccup) Daughter of the Fifth (hiccup) House…"

His words were abruptly cut off when Worf reached over and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him slightly up off of his chair. Worf waved a dagger in front of Will's bulging eyes, before he slashed it downward, slicing into Will's right wrist and drawing blood.

Worf then dropped Will back onto his chair, then cut his own left wrist, pressing his blood into Will Riker's blood.

"Worf! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Now, we are blood. Family." He cleaned off his blade on one of Lwaxana's pale lemon damask napkins. "Hiccup cure, too."

Will stopped reacting, concentrating on only thinking. Then his grin returned - one of the biggest, most self-satisfied, most pleased smiles he'd ever had in his life. "Finally. I've got the brother that I always wanted." He slapped Worf heartily on the back. Worf returned the hit. And both men bordered on the silly as they considered the change in their friendship.

In Madame Troi's communications center, a floor away from the breakfast room, Deanna Troi slammed her fist against a comm panel, one more time. "MEN!" she cursed once more, a word she had uttered many, many times during the past few minutes. She was partially surprised that her Imzadi had not picked up on her ever-growing ire. A good deal of it had been directed at him.

Deanna had not intended to eavesdrop on the conversation between Worf and Will. She was above such things. She had only come here to check and see if there were any messages for her, as was her twice-daily custom. Walking by the house monitors, she had been surprised to see Worf and Will speaking to each other with apparent civility. She normally would not have listened, but when Worf called Will a coward, her attention was captured. As their conversation progressed, she ran through a gamut of emotions, anger being the most dominant, though revenge was easily gaining as a second consideration.

"Well, Little One. It seems that your two lovers are deciding your future for you."

Deanna jumped in surprise. She had been so intensely concentrating on the conversation between Worf and Will, that she had not even sensed her Mother's presence.

"Do you have any idea what I am going to do to them, Mother! How dare they! MEN!"

"No, dear, I don't know what you are going to do. What, Little One?"

"I am going to skewer both of them with Worf's bat'leth. They are shish kabobs! I'm going to play Parrises Squares with their naked bodies as targets. I'll use my ion mallet…"

"Little One, there is only one thing that you can do, after all that they have said and done to you. There's only one way to bring about justice."

"And that is, Mother?"

Lwaxana Troi hugged her daughter and smiled her best, mother-always-knows-best smile. "You will marry both of them."

"I WILL NOT!"

"How else can you make their lives miserable for the rest of their days, unless they are both your husbands? Besides, how can you really pick between the two of them? One has such nice hairy balls and such a broad chest. And the other has a really tight tush with the most darling little birthmark…"

When Deanna finally calmed down, she would concede that her mother had made several valid points. She was also amazed at her mother's powers of observation in dim light.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Captain Edward Jellico sat there in his ready room, watching his terminal play back the vids one more time. Neither by word, look or deed, at any point in time, had Jean-Luc Picard given any indication that he knew that Ro Laren was going to escape. Yet Jellico couldn't ignore his gut feeling that the former captain of the Enterprise had known that was exactly what was going to happen. He had no proof. Yet.

Minutes later his doorbell chimed. "Enter."

Mentally consigning Jean-Luc Picard to the devil, Jellico rose to greet him. "Captain Picard. What can I do for you?" He motioned for Jean-Luc to be seated.

"I just wanted to thank you for your efforts on behalf of Mela Torez and her family. I was pleased to learn of her husband surviving the renegade's raids on Tohvun."

"We'll be rendezvousing with the Vulcan ship the Amanda. We'll pick up the man then. I understand that he still needs some medical attention."

"Yes. Nothing serious, fortunately." Picard tapped his fingers together in contemplation. "I also must thank you for your consideration toward me as well. I must admit that I was somewhat surprised by the Admiralty's sudden change of face."

"I think the fact that they almost lost one of their most senior captains to a bureaucratic misreading had something to do with it, Jean-Luc." He nodded in the direction of the replicator. "Care for anything?"

"Not at the moment, Edward."

"Admiral Nechayev wants to talk to you. She'll be calling soon, I would imagine." Jellico pushed some buttons on his desk. "Have you decided what you want to do, Jean-Luc?"

"Meaning?"

"I've been ordered to take you wherever you wish to go, Jean-Luc. The Cairo currently does not have any priority class assignments, so my schedule is quite flexible." He stood and went over to the replicator, getting himself a coffee. "Unless you return to active duty, that is. Then I am to convey you to the nearest starbase."

Picard nodded. "Thank you, Captain Jellico. But I would prefer to finally make it to Gaudete II. I did make a commitment to Dr. Storal. From the preliminary reports that I've read about the dig, it could be a major find." He politely smiled. "Besides, I never did actually go on vacation. That was the whole purpose of my trip to Gaudete II in the first place."

"And Beverly is there," Jellico added.

Picard stopped breathing for a second. "I had not known that."

"Beverly was the center of the concerted effort by your former crew and Starfleet to find you, Jean-Luc. Once they decided that you were missing, quite a few people got in on the action, including the Klingon High Command." Jellico sipped his coffee. "I had not realized that the Klingons were so fond of you, Jean-Luc."

"I do not think that fond is the correct word to use, Edward. I have been of use to them in the past. I don't think that they particularly wish to go through the effort of breaking in a new Federation officer to take my place."

"Whatever, Jean-Luc." Jellico put down his cup. "So you've decided not to return to Starfleet?"

"Not at the present time, Edward."

"Starfleet's loss…"

Picard had a feeling that Jellico didn't really mean it.

"Now tell me where you really think Ro went…"

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Considering that he'd been on board the Cairo for more than a day, Nella was surprised when Jean-Luc finally got around to ringing the bell to her quarters. She had not expected him to come after all the hours that had passed.

"Nella. May I come in?"

"Of course, Jean-Luc."

He entered her quarters which were not quite as spacious as the ones she'd been assigned when she'd been under his command. Still, the rooms were colorful, and were already decorated with enough of Nella's mementos to reveal the distinctive sides of her personality.

He paused for a moment, listening to the music that was playing. "Bach. The Third Brandenburg."

Nella laughed. "Merely a coincidence, Jean-Luc. I really wasn't expecting you."

"Surely not?"

"Well, when you didn't show up within the first few hours, I figured that you had other things on your mind."

"Starfleet then Mela had planned my schedule, Nella."

She came over to him and lightly kissed him on the lips. It had been a long time since she'd kissed him. She lingered for a moment, then stepped away when he did not respond.

"Tell me something, Jean-Luc."

"If I can."

"Are you happy to see me or am I just another damned complication in your life?"

Jean-Luc sighed. "Nella…"

She walked over to the replicator and returned with two herbal teas. "Sit."

He took his cup from the lady, and tasted it, grimacing as he always did when he tasted this particular brew. Some things never changed.

"Well?"

He drank again before he answered her. "Nella, I don't know how to answer your question. My life has been rather complicated as of late."

“You never called me after I left the Enterprise. No message. No Joyeaux Noel. Nothing."

"You never contacted me, either." He didn't wish to be on the defensive with her, but apparently, that was the way she wanted it to be.

"A woman has to keep her pride, Jean-Luc."

"I thought that we had once been beyond that stage, Nella."

"You mean to tell me that you weren't secretly relieved when I never tried to plan your shore leaves for you?"

"Of course not." She just looked at him as if she didn't believe a word that he'd just said. Picard put down his cup. "Nella, I've not come here to quarrel with you…"

"Or to revive an old flame, eh, Jean-Luc?"

"You do have a way with your choice of words, Nella Daren." He stood. "I've never cared for it."

"Spoilsport. And sit down, Jean-Luc. I am not going to toast you over any Bersallian coals tonight."

He almost laughed out loud at her choice of words again. She did have a way of irritating a man's soul.

She drank her tea, then nodded in the direction of the replicator. "Want some more?"

"No, thank you."

"Of course not. Well, are you going to say it or shall I?"

"Nella?" He continued to be confused.

"It would have never worked between us, Jean-Luc. Not for the long term."

"That wasn't what I was thinking, Nella.

"Well, maybe not now, but I'd be willing to bet that you did at one point in the past."

"Nella, do not presume to tell me what I once thought."

"When the Enterprise crashed, Jean-Luc - and I am so sorry about your loss… She was a beautiful ship." He accepted her words. "As I was saying, we don't require the same things. It took time for me to realize it."

"I don't understand, Nella."

"It wasn't your captaincy that separated us, Jean-Luc. It was the implied possibility of us having a future that alarmed you."

His cup crashed onto the side table. It was uncharacteristic for him to lose his temper, but Nella was pushing him too far.

"I did not run from our relationship, Madam. Neither one of us was willing to compromise."

"If you really loved me, you would have."

"Nella!" He castigated her with an angry glare, striving to control a temper that had been sorely tested over the past few months. Various women had been plaguing him for a while now. 

"When I was captain of the Enterprise I could not compromise. It would have meant going against my duty."

"And your duty is everything to you?"

"It was."

He waited for her to reply. He'd never known her to be at a loss for words.

"And no longer is?" The words were softly said, but spoken with great intent.

"I do not know what you mean." He turned away from her, mentally debating whether or not he should leave before he said something more unpleasant.

"Yes, you do, Jean-Luc." She came over to him, her gaze sympathetic. She put her hand on his forearm, touching him lightly. "You couldn't compromise because you loved your ship more."

"Nella!" His voice was sharp. "I will not apologize for making my choice."

"Neither will I, Jean-Luc If I hadn't loved you so much, if all I'd really wanted was only a sexual relationship, I'd have stayed around to see my stellar cartography lab being built. But I couldn't do that once you told me that you loved me."

Weariness hit him, flooding his body. He had had enough - of everything. "Nella, I see no point in continuing this conversation. Good night." He moved as if to leave.

"Jean-Luc."

There was something in her voice that made him pause. "Yes, Nella?" He did owe her some consideration.

"We could have compromised -reached an amicable arrangement. We could have been lovers and friends. And it could have lasted, possibly even for some years. Yet, somewhere along the way, we both would have felt cheated."

"Cheated?" His anger had dissipated. He was just simply trying to understand her rationalizations.

"I am not the grand passion of your life, Jean-Luc. And our love of music would not have been enough to bridge the gap."

"What would you have me do, Nella?"

"Don't compromise when it comes to your heart, Jean-Luc. Go after the one you really do love - enough. Love her with at least the same strength of passion that you reserved for your Enterprise."

Her words surprised him. "Nella?"

"Mr. Data tells me that you have loved Beverly for a very long time - decades."

He stilled at the mention of Beverly's name. "What does Beverly have to do with us?"

She offered him her understanding. "Beverly has everything to do with you, my dear Captain. That is, if everything that Mr. Data has told me is correct." She kissed his cheek this time, brushing her fingers gently against his head.

"Mr. Data has always had the tendency to say too much."

"Well, I must admit that he has acquired a very human fascination with gossip. I was with him for a while on Earth. He was a source of some rather informative, interesting conversations."

"I must have a discussion about personal boundaries with Mr. Data one day soon. Again."

She kissed him again. "I think you'd really be better off having a talk with your personal physician." Her eyes glinted with the pleasure of bedeviling him one more time.

He studied her for a moment, then finally returned her smile. "I am already on my way to do just that."

"Good. Well, now that this is settled, let us discuss a matter that is of far greater importance to both of us."

"And that is?"

"Have you been practicing your flute?"

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Jean-Luc rubbed his jaw rather gingerly. His first encounter with Jorge Torez had not been an auspicious one. The man had socked him in the jaw before Picard even had a chance to finish introducing himself. He hadn't been anticipating an immediate need to duck.

Matters hadn't been helped any by the fact that Picard got the distinct impression that Jellico found the situation to be amusing, not that this captain said or did anything overt to indicate it.

Anyway, Jorge was now residing in the brig, as Picard found himself in the unenviable position of trying to be a mediator between a husband and a wife who obviously had more conflict between them than just time spent apart and light years traveled. Somehow, Jorge was under the impression that Picard had been with Mela for over eight months.

The fact that Dr. Selar provided Mr. Torez with scientific proof that the little John Luke was indeed his son, held no sway with the man. He was convinced that everything that was occurring   
was a giant Federation plot against him. He wanted a divorce.

Picard personally thought that Jorge Torez was a fool. And someone who was unworthy of his wife. He hoped that his initial judgment of the man's character had been in error. But ever since he had first met Mela he had wondered how anyone who loved the lady could have let her travel alone in her condition on board the Unk, the way that Jorge had. It did not speak well about the character of the man.

Jean-Luc entered the cabin that had been assigned to Mela and her children. The twins were gone at the moment. Being the only children on board, they found themselves the object of several crew member's off-duty attentions. Right now, they were enjoying themselves. Even Captain Jellico had allowed them to tour the bridge. This was something that Jellico knew that Picard would have never permitted on board the Enterprise.

Picard watched Mela for a while, as she breast-fed her son. He couldn't help but think of the times Eline had done the same with their children. Perhaps it was the fact that Mela reminded Jean-Luc of Eline that had first caused him to befriend the lady and her family. But now, she was simply his friend. He did admire her, but he also had to discuss with her the difficulties concerning her husband.

After the baby was asleep in his crib, Mela came into the living room and apologized again to Jean-Luc. "I don't know what to say to you, John Luke. I am so sorry about Jorge's temper and accusations. He was never this crazy before. Did he hurt you?"

Picard reflexively rubbed his jaw. "He did no damage that Dr. Selar could not fix."

"What are you going to do about Jorge?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't understand, John Luke. Does Jorge face arrest? Are you not upset? "

"Never with you."

Mela blushed at his words. "I will speak to Jorge. He will apologize."

Picard did not consider an apology to be likely forthcoming from Jorge. He came over to her and held her hand. "Mela, you are not without choices of your own."

She looked up at him, seeing only kindness and concern in his gaze. "Yes, John Luke?"

"My family owns a vineyard in France on Earth. Right now, there is just my sister-in-law living there, running it. If you wish, for a time you could go there. I had intended to offer Jorge a job too. But, I think I'll wait a little while until he calms down."

"Why are you so kind to us, John Luke?"

"Is there any reason why I shouldn't be?"

She shyly smiled. And he was struck by her charm again. "My husband is not exactly a friend of the Federation."

Jean-Luc leaned closer and whispered, "There are times, Mela, when I don't feel that friendly toward the Federation either." He straightened up. "Make the offer to your husband, Mela. Whether he accepts or not, LaBarre is still an option for you."

"Without even consulting your sister-in-law first?"

"Her name is Marie Picard. Marie lost her son along with her husband a few months ago. I've already discussed you and your family situation with her. She would welcome your company." 

Picard put his hand on her shoulder, hugging her briefly. "You would be doing me a great favor if you choose to go. I worry about Marie being alone."

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Deanna said her wedding vows the way she meant to proceed with the rest of her life. She spoke to Worf the verbal words of promise in a private ceremony held by the orchid mirror pool in Lwaxana's garden. For some reason, Deanna and Worf seemed partial to this particular garden.

She made her promises to Worf, then kissed him. But she also held Will Riker's hand during the ceremony. Quite a few people were puzzled about what Riker was doing up at the altar. Those who knew Riker's reputation could not conceive of him getting married. They just figured his presence to be part of the do-it-yourself cross-cultural ceremonies.

In public, Worf was the proclaimed groom. Privately, Will and Worf had agreed that the more unusual aspects to their union with Deanna would not be publicly announced. They would let their friends get used to the details before they made any more formal announcements.

Worf had chosen the Klingon bonding ritual for their wedding. Deanna had insisted on a traditional Betazoid ceremony. They had compromised. Words were said in Klingonese. The lack of clothing was Betazed. Family and friends were the witnesses.

Lwaxana sighed. She felt a great sense of personal accomplishment and satisfaction. She accepted her robe from Mr. Homm and slipped into a deep gold and burgundy mantle. It shimmered with her every movement. Her daughter was now married to the man she had chosen as Husband Number One. And promised to Husband Number Two.

Lwaxana silently promised herself that she would send a bottle of aged Aldebaran whiskey off to Alynna Nechayev for her part in the plot to get grandchildren for the Fifth House of Betazed. Lwaxana had no way of knowing why Alynna would react the way she did when she received a bottle celebrating that Klingon's wedding. It would be years before Lwaxana would learn the entire story behind what really happened during the wake for the Enterprise. And why Alynna Nechayev had sworn never to drink Aldebaran whiskey or Romulan ale ever again. At least, not in the company of certain Klingons.

Lwaxana tousled her official new grandson's hair and smiled down at him with great affection. "Little One, are you happy?"

Alexander beamed up at his favorite madcap relative and triumphantly agreed. "We did it!"

"Alexander, dear, I wouldn't mention our little plotting to your parents until a few years have gone by. Let them get used to being married before we bother to bring up any boring really unimportant details."

"My father is always talking about the importance of guile. I shall practice it."

"Wise man, your father. And he did show the good sense to marry my daughter. Finally." She patted his shoulder and hugged him. "Now, go and comfort your other grandmother, Little One."  
He scooted over to where his Grandmother Helena was sobbing. He didn't understand why she was crying when she was happy, but Worf had revealed to him a long time ago that it was something that his grandmother did. Alexander accepted it.

Now that the ceremony was over, Mr. Homm walked amongst the non-Betazoid witnesses and handed out robes.

Deanna had to give credit to her new in-laws. Helena had not spoken a single word of protest over Deanna's decision to follow certain Betazed customs. She had disrobed without protest. Deanna should not have underestimated what a grandmother would do in the hope of getting more grandchildren.

In fact, everyone attending the small ceremony, had followed Betazed customs.

Now, they were proceeding inside for a low-key reception where everyone could get dressed again.

Geordi was perfectly natural in this situation. His visor had always automatically scanned warm bodies ignoring their clothing.

Leah Brahms was a bit more uncomfortable. It had been her experience that most scientists did not care to run around in the nude. Matters hadn't been helped when Will Riker had whispered to her that she had nothing of which to be ashamed. Geordi had reassured her that Will said that to all the ladies.

Besides, Geordi wasn't quite sure what the ceremony was about. At one point, Deanna had held both Worf and Will's hands as she whispered something to each of them. Both men seemed pleased with her words.

Geordi also scanned a sight he never ever envisioned possible. Deanna Troi had woven pumpkin colored orchids into Worf's hair. The floral bedecked braids trailed down in colorful contrast against Worf's hairy chest. Apparently, being in love permitted funny things to happen to the Klingon psyche.

Aside from his perpetual grin, the only thing that Will Riker wore were several ginger flowers strategically placed behind his ears. They matched the flowers that Deanna had in her hair wreath. With colorful ribbons twined through her dark ringlets, Geordi doubted if he'd ever scanned a happier bride.

The only sad part to the ceremony was that they were all wishing that other friends could have been present too. Riker was already vowing to throw the party to end all parties when he could arrange for all absent friends to gather.

Lwaxana's one regret was that Jean-Luc Picard was not in attendance. Though she no longer considered him to be suitable husband material, she still had her healthy sense of curiosity. One of these days she was going to drag that man to a Betazed ceremony and get him naked…

A decorous, low-key (for Lwaxana) reception was hosted by Mrs. Troi, Helena and Sergey Rozhenko.

Ambassador Roper was in attendance with his much-divorced daughter Wendy. The few guests that were there got to observe Will Riker sidestep a most determined Wendy Roper trying to renew the brief relationship that had happened many years before. Once Lwaxana understood the problem of Wendy, she quickly solved it. No dilettante perpetual debutante was going to upset any of Lwaxana's expertly constructed machinations. She introduced the woman to Reginald Barclay. Some cultures would consider Wendy and Reg a perfect coupling - one very experienced sophisticated person and one almost innocent soul. They each had much to learn from the other. Reg would spend the rest of his shore leave as a willing pupil.

Hours after the reception, Worf carried his bride over the threshold of the lodge at Lake Tinoret. It was the same lodge that the Troi and Rozhenko families had preferred.

Two days earlier, during the bachelor party for Worf, Sergey had spent some time telling his son everything that Sergey had ever learned about human females during his lifetime.  
Reg advised quoting poetry which wasn't such a bad idea since Klingons were noted for their passion-filled romantic epics.

Geordi didn't think his experience with Leah could apply to such a different personality such as Deanna, but he did remember how happy his mother had always been when his dad had brought home flowers, and recommended similar gifts when Deanna least expected them.

None of the bachelors noticed that Will was oddly silent about how to handle a woman.

After kissing Deanna for several minutes inside the main room of the lodge, Deanna had to remind him to put her down. Worf's instinctive reaction was to carry her directly into the bedroom, and place his wife squarely in the center of the bed.

Deanna had other plans. "Worf, please. Give me a few minutes. I have something very special planned."

With his Father's recent advice still foremost in his memory, Worf gently placed Deanna down onto a chaise lounge. She immediately went into the bedroom and closed the door.

Worf looked about the plank walled living room to the small lodge, that was built into a cliff side overlooking one of the prettiest lakes on Betazed. The wood lodge was located in a forest preserve and was quite isolated.

He was pleased with the site. It was not too sybaritic to insult Spartan Klingon tastes unlike most Betazed houses that bordered on the positively decadent. The Betazeds were a race that really liked their physical pleasures.

Worf walked past the living room to reach the porch that surrounded three quarters of the lodge. He viewed the lake down below and the trees beyond, surveying for possible future trysting places during their sojourn here. He stood there for a while, watching the rippling waters of the lake.

After what Worf deemed a suitable time had passed, he returned to the main room and decided to give Deanna sixty more seconds before he physically demonstrated to the lady that they were indeed on their honeymoon.

He noticed that there was some wine and hors d'oeuvres on a side table near a cobblestone wall dining nook. His father had planned for everything.

What he didn't expect was an intruder. Worf normally anticipated every possible situation. But on his honeymoon, his tactical plans had not included company.

"Worf. What was so important that you had to send for me? I was just about to return to G-6." William Riker's grin held a touch of devilishness for he was somewhat surprised by his summons. He had just come from the Federation consulate after having a brief reunion with his old boss.

"Captain. Will. I did not send for you. Why are you here?"

"Worf, I got a message telling me to beam over to this location. If you didn't send for me…"

"I did."

Deanna stood in the doorway to the bedroom.

Both men turned and then gulped in unison.

Deanna was a fantasy for the senses. Her perfume was heady, sensual, mesmerizing as it wafted toward her husbands. She was now wearing something that in the future both men would dreamily remember as misty rose colored clouds. Clouds that were languidly caressing the naked curves of her body. Swirling. Occasionally clearing now and then, to reveal enticing glowing pink flesh.

She took a step forward. The clouds parted for an instant. Both men gulped again. They looked at each other, somewhat in dismay as they began to speculate upon the possible scenarios of her intentions.

"Deanna," both men said simultaneously.

She smiled - a very special smile sent in their direction. "Will. How good of you to come." She extended her hand toward him, disturbing some of the clouds to reveal almost all of her right breast.

Worf was still looking at Deanna, partially stunned. Will, on the other hand, was quite familiar with the particular smile that Deanna was bestowing upon both of them. Now, he was nervous.

He bowed and kissed the lady's hand. "Deanna. I think I can honestly say I've never seen you quite like this before." He admired the rosy swirls for a moment before he added, "You are gorgeous. Pink perfection."

"My favorite color. Thank you, Will." She looked expectantly over at Worf.

All thoughts of Reg's advice had vanished from Worf's head the moment she'd stepped into the room. Instead of flowery comments Worf gruffly stated, "Aren't you cold? You need a robe. I'll get you one."

She raised her hand. "Stay, Worf. I'm fine. And I expect that both of you will do your best to keep me warm rather soon." She waited for their response to her words. Both men gulped again. 

She nodded in direction of the open round fireplace at the center of the room. "Perhaps if you start a fire I won't catch a chill?"

Worf just stood there, his feet stuck to the floor as he kept staring at Deanna. It was Will who quickly moved. "I'm an expert at fires, Worf. All those Alaskan winters, you know."

Within a minute the fire was flaming nicely. Will grinned at Deanna. He had used his phaser to light it. "I wouldn't want you to be encumbered with a robe - not when you've gone to so much trouble with your outfit - and not at this point of the night's entertainment."

He didn't know exactly what Deanna was doing. But he had a suspicion that whatever it was, he'd better stick around and experience it. Will had a feeling that tonight was going to be infamous.

She pointed in the direction of a round glass table by one of the scenic vista windows.

"Worf. Will. Please be seated." She walked over to a side bar and motioned for Worf to pick up a bottle of champagne that had been chilling in a bucket. "Captain Picard was able to procure for us one of his family's vintages since he couldn't make it to our wedding."

"Nice of the captain," Worf stated, hiding his nervousness.

Deanna looked at him and leaned over the table, placing three glasses on the glass top. She nodded to Worf. "Please open this, dear. And then sit down."

Deanna sat down and crossed her legs. Since the table was solid matte glass, both men could view all that her veil of clouds did and did not cover.

Worf was proud that his hands did not shake as he opened up the champagne. He would not have cared to spill any of Captain Picard's gift. He reached over and grabbed the goblets then filling them. He handed about the glasses to Deanna and Will.

"To Deanna," he gallantly announced, "my bride."

"My Imzadi," Will cheerfully added. He knew he was going to pay for this night's sins. But right now, he was enjoying himself.

"My husbands," Deanna rejoined, smiling sweetly at both of them. "Our marriage…"

At this moment, both men felt in need of a drink. Deanna interrupted their gulping. "Ahem." And touched the rim of her glass to Worf's glass.

Worf was confused for a moment.

It was Will who clinked the rims first. And then, he drank the entire goblet in one gulp. He reached over and refilled the glass from the Jeroboam size three-liter bottle of champagne. The he leaned back into his comfortable armchair. "Now what, Deanna. Since you seem to have arranged everything else, you clearly have some sort of plan for this evening." He looked over at Worf, a challenge gleaming in his eyes. "I'm game."

"Funny you should choose those exact words, Will Riker. You must still have a slight telepathic link with me." She reached over and picked up a box that had been sitting on a table by the window. Her very movements caused the kind of reaction in her husbands that the wispy gown had been specifically designed to create.

Riker stifled an instinctive groan.

She opened up the box, lifted out three stacks of chips, and a deck of cards.

Riker's groan changed into a moan. The significance of her actions sank in.

Somehow, Deanna knew.

"Deanna…" he started to apologetically explain.

"Will," she drawled, in hyper-sugary tones.

She shuffled the deck and dealt out three cards face down.

Worf finally got it. "Deanna. You cannot play poker with us…" His voice trailed off as he really began to understand the significance of her actions. "You were spying on us!"

"Actually, Mr. Homm was," she explained. "At the beginning…"

"I shall kill him. He deserves a death with no honor."

"I wonder if the typical Klingon wife would say the same thing about her typical Klingon husband when he proposes to gamble away her favors?" Deanna's voice sounded innocent. Her glare said otherwise.

Worf finally understood the meaning of the human phrase he had once heard - your goose is cooked.

Riker thought the same thing as he mentally added, "And other vital parts of the male anatomy as well - all cooked. Well done. Falling off the bone…"

Deanna must have heard his thoughts because her smile got bigger - more frightening.

"Ante up." She dropped a chip onto the table.

Both men meekly complied. They were afraid to do otherwise.

She dealt face down, three more cards.

Worf finally noticed the number of hands. "Deanna. You cannot play this game. It is to be played only between Will and myself."

"Wanna bet?" she asked.

He shook his head, confused.

She leaned over in his direction, baring more bosom than he wished to have distract him at the moment. He tried to concentrate on her words.

"Do you wish to place a bet, Husband Number One?"

Worf looked at his cards, not knowing what else to do. Then he thought of something. "Deanna, you cannot play this game. What if you win?"

She laughed, a trilly little sound that sent goose bumps down Will's spine.

She must have been practicing it. Riker shook his head, trying to focus on her actions. "Worf's right, Deanna. What if you win?"

He knew he shouldn't have said it the moment the words left his mouth. He had the distinct impression that she was fancying making him a bullock. And enjoying every imaginary moment of it. Definitely she was envisioning sautéing some of his certain vital masculine body parts…

"Then you both will just have to do what I wish, won't you?"

Worf glanced toward the open bedroom door, shuddering at the image of three people sharing what should've been a honeymoon bed for two.

Riker checked out the most comfortable sofa in the room. He had a feeling that he'd be needing it before the night was through.

"Will, are you in or out?" she asked with exaggerated petulance.

"Oh, most definitely I am in, Imzadi. I wouldn't miss playing your game for anything."

He anted up. Deanna would never be considered to be a great dramatic actress…

Worf finally looked at the cards and then placed a chip in the pot. "What game is this, Deanna?"

Klingon bluster wasn't going to help him now. Starfleet training and a Klingon warrior's discipline and traditions had left him woefully unprepared for the antics of a vengeance-seeking half-human, half-Betazed bride with a decided axe to grind and a sense of female honor to avenge.

Deanna Troi playfully tossed her hair, took a deep breath fully aware of what that movement would do to the clouds caressing her breasts, conferred upon each of her husbands her prettiest, most-guile-less smile - Lwaxana would have been very proud of her daughter at this moment - and then chose to answer Worf's question.

"Stud Poker. Seven card."

 

tbc


	6. A Little Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Final chapter. "A Little Romance..."  
>  Will comes to terms with his Imzadi. Jean-Luc and Beverly reconcile. Geordi gets married. Lwaxana dances a bit. And Jean-Luc says good bye... To be continued in THE SKY IS THE LIMIT. The complete “M” version is already on AO3.

CHAPTER 6: A LITTLE ROMANCE

 

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Will Riker rubbed his beard, finished off his coffee, and punched open the screen door on the porch to the lodge. He walked down the steps and paused, debating whether or not he should stroll over to Lake Tinoret, or explore the trail that veered off to the left.

He waited. And he was not disappointed when Deanna joined him. She had thrown a cloak over her personalized weather front. Wisps of pink steam escaped from around her collar and through the opening to the front of her ruby cape. He found her enchanting in the subdued twilight of her homeworld.

"Deanna?"

"Yes, Imzadi?"

"I've never quite seen an outfit like this one before. It certainly made an impression on Worf. And on me. Where did it come from?"

"Risa II. They've started exporting some of their fashions. I couldn't resist this when I saw it. I knew that sooner or later, I would find the appropriate time to wear it. I figured our honeymoon was it.

"I must agree. I will forever remember you, Imzadi, and the way you looked tonight. Storm front and all. I'll never be able to view the weather in quite the same way again."

"Thank you, Captain." She hooked her arm through his as the ambled toward the lakeshore.

"Where's Worf?"

"I made him promise that he would stay in the bedroom. He protested, but he did give his word."

"Good. I thought he'd be beaming out on you the moment he got the chance. He was rather angry there, for a few minutes."

"Yes. But a great deal of the anger was directed toward himself."

Will paused, and picked a scarlet Janaran orchid, handing it to Deanna. She tucked it behind her left ear. "What are you going to do with him?"

"Apologize. And then kiss him until he forgets why I was apologizing to him even though I was really in the right."

'I don't think that I'd mention that fact to him, at least not for a few years. You took quite a chance with your scheming, Deanna."

"You knew I was planning something, didn't you, Will Riker?"

"Yes, Deanna. I suspected that I'd be facing a reckoning the moment you placidly agreed to everything that your mother and Worf wanted without a single word of dissent."

She considered his words. And the expression of his face. "Something tells me that I am about to lose my Husband Number Two."

With a low throaty chuckle of agreement, he embraced her, pulling her against the comforting strength of his broad chest. His body reacted as the memories flooded through them of similar embraces. Hugging her closely, he whispered against the flower in her hair, "I'm tempted to stay, Deanna. At times, it would be paradise again. I do remember, Imzadi. Every passionate moment."

"We once knew paradise, Will."

She looked up at him, the dark pools of her eyes glistening with tears.

He brushed them away with his lips. "Imzadi. I will love you forever."

"Always in my heart, Will. Always."

He kissed her brow, and then sighed, resting his forehead against hers. "I presume that being Number Two will be an honorary title from now on?"

"Afraid so."

He accepted her decision with the good graces that characterized his philosophy of life. "Pity. I would have enjoyed bedeviling Lwaxana as my mother-in-law."

"Well, I don't suppose that we have to tell her just yet, about your honorary status."

"Who knows? If I make her life so miserable, she might even be inclined to appreciate her Number One son-in-law more, and call her Woofie by Worf's real name."

Deanna tittered at the thought. And then she kissed Will. He turned it into something deeper, more passionate. Then he stepped back. "I did have to kiss my bride on our wedding day."

"Of course. You're not regretting your decision, are you Will?"

"I have a feeling I'm going to curse my decision every day until I die, Imzadi." Then his mood changed. He became serious. "Deanna."

“Yes, Will."

"That night in your room - the passion between us really did happen, didn't it? I was not certain."

"Yes, Will. I thought I was having another dream of you. An erotic, fabulous dream, but a fantasy, nevertheless."

"Damn. I get you in my arms again, and I remember all of the passion but none of the details." He slipped his hand underneath her cloak and gently stroked her breasts, reverently fondling them, tarrying for a moment as he felt a dew-clad nipple stiffen beneath his fingers.

She relished this contact for the last time before she patted away his hand. "Will," she chided. "You're incorrigible."

"My true middle name," he teased. But he did reluctantly remove his hand. "Still the best a man could yearn for, Deanna."

She flushed, still thrilled by his compliments, even after all that had happened between them. And then she sighed with regret over what might have been.

He knew why she sighed. "I wish I could be someone else for you, Deanna. A less ambitious fellow."

"I wish I could have waited. But, by the time you're going to actually be ready to have a family, I'd be a Vice-Admiral." She rested her head against his shoulder and hugged him tightly. "Will…" She raised her head and kissed him again. "Do you really understand?"

"I understand that I will always be your Imzadi." He kissed her again. "Now, Deanna, you'd better go and explain the changes in our relationship to Worf, before he decides to arrange matters himself. Or rearrange this face of mine with a bat'leth.

"Will you be happy, Will Riker, as captain of a starship? Is it truly what you want?"

"It had better be. It's what I've worked for most of my life. I won't change course in mid-stream, now. What about you, Deanna? Where will you find happiness?"

"A home here on Betazed with Worf."

Her ready response somewhat surprised him.

"And not on Qo'noS?"

"Worf doesn't really want to raise his children there. One day, if they should choose to return to Qo'noS, then that will be a different matter. It will be their decision."

"One day, when I am captain, I'd want both of you as my senior officers, Deanna. Any objections if you joined my crew?"

"You're so positive that you're going to get a command, Will?"

"Yes. One day, I will."

"Then you'd better continue to be my honorary Husband Number Two. With your reputation and our past, imagine the sort of gossip your crew will invent. They won't need a Holodeck to keep them entertained."

Will laughed at this. "Speaking of entertainment, what are you going to tell Worf?"

"Maybe one day I will tell Worf that you cheated at cards tonight, Will."

"Well, I just had to see what you would do if you did win, Deanna. I rather liked the thought of both of us being at your mercy."

"Sorry I am not able to fulfill any of your fantasies, Will."

Will shuddered at the thought. "Believe me, Deanna. After one night with you and Worf, I'll never desire those kind of dreams again."

This time, when he kissed her, it was a passionate kiss of bittersweet farewell. Will Riker knew that this embrace would never come again between them as long as she loved Worf. He knew what he had to do, but he would indeed regret this choice for many years to come.

Deanna waited until he faded away before she walked up the steps to the lodge.

"Worf?" she called out from the porch.

"Here."

She turned and saw him by the card table, pouring two more flutes of champagne.

"It would be a dishonor to Captain Picard's family if we did not drink his wedding gift."

"I suppose so. Human honeymoons and champagne do seem to go together." The natural coquette within Deanna's soul asserted itself. "Are we going to have a proper honeymoon, Worf?"

Worf walked over to Deanna and handed her a flute. Years of observing human female behavior had taught him much. Sometimes, the direct approach was best. He unbuttoned her cloak and shoved the garment to the carpet.

"Yes," he promised. "I am no longer angry."

Some of Deanna's clouds had been dampened down a bit by the weight of the cloak, but they were still swirling about her curves.

He smiled. "I suppose the Captain told you how much he liked this dress of yours?"

"Yes. Will always notices my outfits. And thinks to compliment me."

"I will remember that. And you are beautiful. But you already know that."

"I still need to hear it now and then from you."

He growled as he pulled her close. "Then read my heart, Deanna. And you will know what I believe." Then he amazed Deanna by twining his arm through hers, and offering her a sip from his champagne flute. She wondered who had told him about this romantic tradition as she provided her own wine to his lips.

"Dixon Hill…" he whispered, before he put down his flute. A moment later her goblet tumbled to the floor as he picked up his bride and carried her into the single bedroom. It was a spectacular room with a breath-taking view. And most importantly, a very large, very sturdy bed. It would take Worf almost a week before he would notice the scenery.

"How do I remove this outfit of yours?" He was polite, restraining himself from taking his bride immediately.

"You kiss it off, Woofie," she purred.

He forgot all constraints with these words. Many hours later he announced, "I am angry with you." Considering the many things, he had done to her during the last few hours and the way he felt when he moved within her, she didn't really believe his words.

"Why, Worf, not Woof?"

"Tell, Lwaxana. She does not hear my name." He kissed her before he asked, "When were you going to tell me that Riker cheated at poker? He helped you win."

"What makes you think that I knew that he was cheating?"

"Then you do admit that Will cheated!"

She raised herself up on her elbows, surveyed his massive, strong nude body, and debated the best way to distract her husband.

He knew she was plotting. He wasn't skilled enough to discern what she was scheming, but that would come with time and experience. He was beginning to get the hang of this faint psychic connection relationship between them.

"Is Will to remain Husband Number Two?"

She stopped nibbling on him. "He is my Imzadi. But, as of tonight, his title as Husband Number Two is strictly honorary."

"This is truly what you wish?"

"Yes, Worf. I am married to you, Worf. I can only handle one husband at a time."

"You could deal with both of us if you so wished it," he honestly acknowledged.

She smiled at his admission. "But would I survive? I would rather look to our future together than dwell on what is past, Worf. Love me, Worf. That is all that I ask. Love me as much as I love you."

"We will have a good life between us."

"Yes, I rather think that we will."

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Jean-Luc Picard was still amused by the image that Mr. Barclay had sent him of his former Number One and Chief Tactical Officer with flowers in their hair and wearing nothing else. He truly wished he had been informed of the ceremony in time to have made the arrangements to attend. He had a feeling that it was a most eventful affair.

Sighing, he entered the transporter room.

He felt a tiny hand touch his. He looked down and smiled at the shy little girl who was standing before him.

"Don't go," Harla pleaded. "You haven't taught me how to castle in chess yet."

"I promise, Harla, that one day I will play chess with you. Soon." Picard looked about the transporter room. Nella, Mela and the twins had come to say their goodbyes. Captain Jellico had sent his regards via a yeoman. Captain Picard already knew all about Captain Jellico's regards.

"You understand your travel arrangements, Mela?" Picard politely asked, glancing over to Mr. Mordock who had assured him that he would take care of the lady as long as she was on board the Cairo.

"Oh yes, John Luke. Thanks to you, I will finally get a chance to travel on a real cruise ship!" She couldn't contain her excitement over this travel arrangement.

"Yes, you'll be meeting the Princess Ardella at SB G-6. Commanders Barclay and LaForge will meet you there on board ship, and accompany you to Earth."

"I will try to convince Jorge to come with us, Jean-Luc. All he really wants is to be a farmer - not a rebel."

Picard nodded. "Captain Jellico will release him from the brig into the custody of your quarters if you wish it, Mela."

"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't want to argue with him in front of the children. He's been cursing something about a divorce…"

Picard studied her for a moment. She did not exactly look devastated by the prospect of a divorce. What she did look was determined.

"With or without your husband, you are welcome at Château Picard. Marie is looking forward to meeting you."

"Thank you, John Luke. For everything."

He bent and kissed her cheek. "Take care." He hugged Harla, shook Jory's hand and then surprised Nella by taking her in his arms and kissing her with a touch of passion.

"I should have done that the last time I said goodbye to you, Nella," he explained before he released her.

Nella laughed, not at all bothered by his demonstration in front of her fellow crew members. "Couldn't. You were the captain of the ship. It would have been an unthinkable gesture for you, then." She kissed him back for almost a minute. Then she added, "You know, Jean-Luc, there may be hope for you after all. Now, you'd better leave before Captain Jellico decides to make you hitchhike back to Gaudete II. Or I shanghai you into my service." On his almost-scandalized look she added, "I'm forming a musical society on board the Cairo. Care to play around?"

He stepped onto the transporter platform and nodded to the chief at the controls.

"Goodbye. Bon voyage…" And with that, holding onto a small ditty bag, he beamed down to the archaeological side on Gaudete II.

He was greeted, rather passionately, by Vash.

"Merde," he groaned under his breath.

Vash's presence was a fact that Beverly had neglected to mention to him during the brief conversation he'd had with the lady on board ship. It wasn't that he didn't mind seeing Vash. It was just that he was wishing that it were Beverly who had chosen to greet him in such an impassioned manner. Finally, able to distance himself from Vash's clinging arms, he looked around for Beverly. He saw her standing next to a Vulcan.

He broke from Vash's clutches. "Aren't you going to say anything to me, Jean-Luc?"

"It's good to see you, Vash. Have you smuggled everything off the planet, yet? Oh, my mistake. There still must be something of value left since you are still here."

"Such a suspicious nature, Jean-Luc. That's probably why I like you so much," she retorted.

He stepped around her and strode over to Beverly. He knew that look she gave him. It was a mixture of long-suffering annoyance and barely contained anger. He'd seen that look directed at himself, many times before. Now, he was just happy to see it at all. And he hoped that it was actually steered toward Vash, and was not solely directed at himself. He searched her face for some sign that she was happy to see him.

"Beverly," he cautiously greeted.

"Jean-Luc." Her lower lip trembled.

He took that as a sign, drawing her into his arms, kissing her with every ounce of passion and relief at seeing her, that he possessed. With unspoken words, he tried to tell her how much he had missed her.

For a moment she returned the kiss. And then she broke away from him slightly flustered.

"This is Dr. Storal, Captain Picard."

Jean-Luc released Beverly and raised his hand in the traditional Vulcan five-finger salute.

"Honored, Doctor. During my brief association with Ambassador Sarek, I learned of his respect for your work. I've been an interested amateur follower of your writings ever since."

Dr. Storal immediately changed his original impression of this human. He had assumed that anyone associated with Vash was as mercenary and as superficial as she was - a necessary evil with anyone involved in intergalactic antiquities dealings. The fact that this man was a Starfleet captain held no weight with Storal. The mention of associating with Ambassador Sarek did.  
"Welcome, Captain Picard. When you are ready, I will show you the site. And at dinner, I would like to learn of your association with Ambassador Sarek."

Vash came up next to Picard and wrapped her arm about his. "We both will, Jean-Luc."

She was slightly piqued that he had willingly kissed Beverly, and not her.

He looked up and noted the sun's descent toward the horizon.

"If it is acceptable with you, Dr. Storal, I would like to begin tomorrow morning. I need to get some rest."

Storal agreed.

About an hour after dinner, after meeting the crew, Jean-Luc decided to take a walk away from the camp site. He'd been assured by Vash that there were no dangerous indigenous life forms in the area. Still, he did carry with him his tricorder and phaser, just in case.

There were two things that were giving him hope. The first was that Beverly had stayed on Gaudete instead of immediately leaving after he'd been rescued. Of course, he did consider the possibility that the only reason she'd remained was so that she could reproach him in person. He had sensed some hostility from her during the evening. He suspected that it was based on more than just Vash's cloying, clinging presence.

The second thing that indicated a possibility that he might be able to straighten out his relationship with Beverly, had been when she placed his luggage in her shuttlecraft.

Of course, this could also mean that she preferred to harangue him in private.

He sighed. And he wondered how his life had become so complicated; gone so awry. All he originally had been seeking was only a simple few weeks of peaceful excavation.

Climbing up a hillside, he found a place to sit down on a flat, smooth rock ledge, against a grass slope by what he assumed was some sort of native goat path that he had been following. He estimated that he had almost an hour before sunset. He watched the sky for a while as deep gold spears intersected with rose to amethyst to emerald hued striations. He briefly remembered watching the sun with Ro at dawn.

In a distance, he could see a river flowing into a misty purple to celadon jade lake.

It was a clear night with lazy warm breezes rustling the leaves of the few trees that were growing behind him. From over the hill's crest he heard an occasional plaintive bleating from some sort of animal herd. Overhead, Picard could already pick out four of the system's planets twinkling in orbit about Gaudete's sun. It was as near perfect a planet based night as Picard could ever recall, short of his childhood days at LaBarre.

For a moment, he was a Starfleet officer mentally calculating his astral position in this particular solar system, searching out the evening sky for common constellations. He observed a familiar NGC 7174 galaxy about 90 degrees off the horizon, and knew that this was where he had just been.

The sounds of stones being crunched down the path alerted him to the fact that someone was approaching. He hoped it was Beverly. So he waited. A minute later, he spotted a lantern winding toward him.

A familiar spicy floral scent floated on the mild wind.

Beverly.

He smiled to himself, approving of her decision to confront him in private. In many ways they were so alike.

But then he remembered words that Vash had once said to him about the similarities of his personality to hers. At the time, he had scoffed that such an affinity could be possible. Ro Laren had shown him otherwise. There must have been a rogue, rakehell or pirate amongst his ancestry that Maurice Picard had neglected to mention to him in the official family history.  
He liked this adventuresome side to himself, something that he had suppressed for far too long after being forced to channel these desires into more acceptable proper outlets.

"Jean-Luc?" Her voice was soft, concerned. "Are you all right? How are you feeling?"

"Beverly. I'm all right. Lovely night, isn't it?" He stood and bowed, waving his arm toward the wide rocky ledge he'd been using. "Come and sit. Please."

She did, placing her lantern to the side behind them. They watched the sun in its final throes of descent. "It's been a while since I've looked at a sunset," she casually mentioned when it didn't seem as if he were going to be the first one to speak.

Unwittingly she gave him the opening he needed.  
"I saw a sunrise on Thelka, a few days ago."

"Thelka?"

"Yes, a free-trader planet populated by gamblers, Ferengi, desperadoes, assassins, Cardassians and the Maquis. With all of the attendant vices. It's quite an entertaining place."

"It doesn't sound like the kind of planet that you would prefer. Riker, perhaps."

"But not me? I wasn't always a stuffy Starfleet officer, Beverly." He chuckled. "I'd stayed up all night gambling and then greeted the dawn." He glanced over at her and could see her amazement at his words. "Yes, you are correct. It is definitely a planet that Riker would visit on leave. It has an element of danger to it that Will would find stimulating."

"You did, too."

"Yes, I did. I had good time."

"While the rest of us were worrying about you." She sent him a reproachful glare. "Is that where Captain Jellico found you?"

"No. But that is another story. I'll enlighten you with the details of it later."

For a while, she said nothing. She just watched as a few native night swallows soared about the beautiful starry sky. The moon was on the far horizon beginning its ascent.

"Starfleet thought that you had defected to join the Maquis."

"I had not considered that they would even think such a thing about me until I was on Thelka. My companion mentioned the possibility."

"Companion?" The way he had said the word told her that he had been with another woman.

"Jellico didn't tell you?"

"No. He only sent Mr. Data a message that you had been rescued."

"Jellico wasn't the only one who saved me."

"Captain Jellico did mention a woman named Mela. He told Data that the lady was quite fond of you."

Picard was clueless as to Beverly's feelings. Her voice was quite cool and neutral sounding.

"When I met Mela and her twins, Jory and Harla, she was almost eight months pregnant. We became friends. I made arrangements to send the lady and her family to LaBarre. My home will be a safe haven for them as it once was for me. Her husband divorced her after she gave birth to their son."

"Oh." Again, her voice was non-committal.

"Mela named her son John Luke."

"Oh." The professional in her stirred. "Is the baby all right?"

Picard smiled as he remembered holding the baby and counting his toes. "Yes, my godson is fine. I helped with the delivery."

Her eyes widened in surprise. She had not imagined Jean-Luc willing to do such a thing.

"And?"

"Helping with the birth - I find it to be an extraordinary experience." He briefly thought of Mirabor and Batai. "I understand why you were always so inspired, rejuvenated, whenever you had a delivery. New life fills the soul with hope for the future; to such infinite new possibilities in one newborn child."

Jean-Luc had just described what Beverly had always felt when she delivered a baby.

"It's even more profound when it's your own child, Jean-Luc."

"I know." His voice was soft. She could barely hear him. And he did not bother to explain.

Beverly sent him a look, trying to understand what he meant. It took her a few moments before she realized that he might be referring to what happened with the Kataan. He had told her very little about that incident. She decided that one day she would need to know more about that psychic possession.

They sat in peace for a while longer, before he finally stated what was troubling him.

"Ro Laren saved my life."

She stopped breathing for a moment as she tried to understand everything that he had just said and his implications.

"Ro Laren?"

"Yes. She is still a friend of yours."

"I…" She shut up for a moment, thinking. "Actually, I always thought Ro was closer to Deanna than to me."

"Well, she is loyal to you."

Again, she thought for a while. "What did you do to Ro to cause her to mention me?"

This time he was quiet for a minute. "We were lovers."

Her heart stopped for an infinitesimal moment. Then she took a deep breath before she turned to stare at him.

"On board the Enterprise? I always suspected that there was someone on board…"

"No, not then. And not Ro Laren."

"Of course." She wanted to inquire as to the identity of the other woman on board the ship but decided that this was a discussion best left until a much later time.

He answered her look, meeting her stare. "Ro Laren saved my life by persuading a vicious pirate captain that I was her lover and therefore could not be Starfleet. That I was, instead, Maquis. I acted the part."

"She could get you to act when I never could drag you onto a stage?"

Picard ignored Beverly's attempt at levity. "I was responsible for the lives of a pregnant woman, her two children as well as my own life and Ro Laren's life. I behaved as I was forced to do in order for all of us to survive in a very unstable, dangerous situation. That Vorlo captain could have just as easily killed us as he kept us alive."

"So, it was all a pretense."

"The part to convince Captain Ragner that I was a fellow mercenary was a ruse."

Beverly understood what he was trying to tell her, but she needed for him to actually speak the words. She waited. And waited.

"I was Ro Laren's lover, Beverly. Our relationship went beyond pretense."

"Then, you love her."

He was silent for a moment before he spoke. "No. I am not in love with her."

"Oh." Beverly was troubled by his words.

"I could not lie to you, Beverly. Not about Laren. I used her at first. Then I came to realize that I did care for her as a… friend. Perhaps I always had."

“And I am supposed to accept this?" She buried her hurt under a mountain of ice.

"I chose to return to you and not to stay with her. There was a part of me that was sorely tempted to join her fight. It would have been a different challenge from being a starship captain."

His words shocked her. "You have Maquis sympathies?"

"Let us just say that I understand the reasons for their actions far more easily than I do Starfleet's rationalizations behind the preservation of the peace at all costs with the Cardassians." 

Then he remembered that he was talking to an active Starfleet officer. It was prudent to say no more.

"What happened to Ro Laren?"

"I asked her to come back to Earth with me. I would have done my best to help her minimize her troubles with Starfleet."

Beverly hid her surprise. "You didn't actually ask her to go to LaBarre, did you?"

"Actually, I did."

"Jean-Luc! What were you going to do? Open up a hotel? First me, then this Mela and now Ro Laren. Who's next? Vash?"

"Never Vash," Jean-Luc firmly stated. "I had not thought of opening a hotel. I suppose it is one solution."

She did not know if he were teasing or not.

Then his thoughts took a sober turn. "Laren turned me down. Circumstances forced me to trick her into coming on board the Cairo with me. I - that is, it is a very lengthy story. I will bore you with the details of it one day if you still will wish to hear them by then. The gist of it is, I had Ro Laren arrested. She felt I betrayed her, actually. Somehow, she then escaped. Then Jellico brought me to Gaudete II."

"And that's it?" Beverly looked at him, realizing that she had known him too long not to know when he was concealing something.

"Dr. Selar sends her greetings."

She groaned. "So, the problem is now, what am I going to do with you?"

"Why did you stay, Beverly?"

She wouldn't answer him. She chose to converse about the obvious. "I will hold you to your promise to tell me the unexpurgated story, Jean-Luc, one day."

"As you wish, Beverly."

"What I actually want to know is why Ro Laren even mentioned me in the first place."

"She didn't know that we had been lovers on Caldos until a few hours before I had her arrested. She was offended with what she regarded as my betrayal of you."

"But you don't think that you betrayed me?"

"We were separated, Beverly. I did not know if I would ever even see you again. Our parting words - I truly regret them."

"I know what you mean. I've replayed our final arguments over and over in my mind. That's one of the reasons why I came to Gaudete. To apologize."

"And I went on my journey to Gaudete in order to have time to consider our relationship. The peace and quiet of the ruins were supposed to be conducive to introspective thinking." He captured her hand again merely just to hold it as if he needed to remind himself that she was really there. "When I was with Ro Laren, I created a sophistic argument to rationalize my actions. She was there, unconditionally."

"Oh, really? Are you saying that I put reservations on our relationship?"

He didn't have to be a Betazed to sense that he'd said something that Beverly did not like hearing. "We have always been in a state of negotiations about our feelings for each other, Beverly. Not once has it ever simply been about our love. There have always been barriers between us. It started when you married Jack. And the complications only seemed to exponentially expand from that point onward."

"You had other goals when I met you, Jean-Luc. You didn't want a permanent relationship with anyone but your captain's chair. My needs were different."

"It would have been wrong for me in our past, to have tried to form a permanent personal relationship with you Beverly. I wasn't willing to risk it."

"And now? Do you still desire Ro?"

He turned away from her then to look at the moon rising above the mountains. He knew that though he had to tell her the truth, how he spoke - the words he would choose - could determine his future with Beverly.

"I could have stayed with Laren. And I would have found a measure of contentment. But something was missing. I would not have been complete."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I have already told you what is in my heart, Beverly." He turned his head to study her again. "You have never admitted to me that you love me. Not that this is an excuse for what I did, but it is one of the reasons why I felt some justification in being with Laren…"

"So if I say I love you, Jean-Luc, that will resolve matters between us?"

"No. But it would be a start." And then he smiled.

Beverly had almost forgotten the sensual power of his smile. Some of her anger melted. She remembered the man whose thoughts she had shared on KesPrytt. She remembered the gentleness of his touch, the passion of his body, the honesty still in his heart. She remembered why she trusted this man, at last. That absolute trust was the most important part of her feelings for this man. 

She moved quickly. Suddenly Jean-Luc found himself in the arms of a woman determined to kiss him senseless. He cooperated.

He sent star wards a silent thanks to whatever gods ruled this planet for creating such a pleasant night. He had no difficulty with the idea of making love to Beverly under the aegis of this warm, starry night.

Now, all he had to do was to persuade Beverly that it was a sensible idea as well.

He adjusted their position and she was now resting more comfortably across his legs.

He eased out of his tan suede jerkin, dropping it flat against the rock.

She didn't mind as her fingers stroked the softness of his dark green silk shirt.

His next kiss was no mere kiss. Beverly couldn't tell if the sudden dizziness that she was experiencing was because she was feeling lightheaded or because of his expertise. All she knew was that she was losing track of her surroundings. His touch was all that mattered, the focal point of her feelings.

Somewhere along the way, her blouse was discarded. She could tell that he was pleased to discover that all that was underneath was a lightweight tank top, which he moved aside.  
He lowered his mouth to hers again.

She pulled away slightly from his kiss in order to assault his mouth. She gently nipped his lower lip, wetting it with her tongue. She trailed kisses along his jaw line, until she reached his earlobe. She touched her tongue to the sensitive area behind his ear, blowing her warm breath against it. She felt him instinctively shudder. Encouraged, she continued to trace with her tongue the shell like portion of his ear until she reached the part of his head where his hairline receded. She had always wanted to freely kiss him like this. Before, she'd never had the courage, thinking that perhaps he did not care to have her pay attention to his hair and its lack. But the way he felt in her arms, told her that he had no objections right now.  
Emboldened, she placed her hands against the sides of his head, tugging him lower, till she could easily place a random trail of kisses all over his pate.

Instead of protesting, he responded by nuzzling whatever portion of her body that he could reach, concentrating on hot-breathed light nips against the outline of her collarbone, and the slope of her graceful neck.

Deep shafts of desire stabbed through her flesh. She was momentarily distracted from her kissing by the heat generated with his kisses.

"Jean-Luc," she broken gasped as she tried to put a little of the cooling night air between them. It was a warm night. Besides, he wouldn't let her go. "Do you know what you're doing?"

These words caused him to raise his head, nearly bumping her chin. "Mon coeur, you wound me, " he scolded.

She remembered what he'd done to her the last time she'd questioned his love making skills. And though a repetition of that night was something to be sought, a hard rock on a strange planet was not the place to repeat that history.

"Jean-Luc." She tried to sound reasonable. "We're out side."

"Observant of you, Beverly."

He moved his lips about her neck. She squirmed against him, struggling to rise up on her elbows. She gazed down the winding path toward the campsite, looking into the gathering darkness. "What if someone comes?"

He was too busy kissing her to answer her question. She realized then that he didn't intend to stop their lovemaking. It was up to her. "Jean-Luc, there is a nice, private shuttle only a few kilometers from here."

"Later, Beverly." He pushed her back down onto the ledge, then moved his suede vest under her head. He added his shirt to the pile.

"But what if someone comes?"

"That is not likely, is it?"

She thought about it. Most of the diggers were probably in bed or playing cards. Dr. Storal would be consumed by his research notes. There was only one person to worry about…

"Only Vash would dare."

Jean-Luc chuckled. "I've never been inclined toward ménage a trois. It somehow seemed undignified to me. We'll just have to send her away if she does dare to come."

She swatted his chest in mock anger. "If she does show up, I'll demonstrate a few of the tosses that Worf has taught me."

"I think I'd relish seeing that."

"You just like the idea of two women fighting over you," she grumbled. She swatted him again though her fingers tarried a moment. "What about insects? The biting kind? If you remove any more clothing, we'll both be vulnerable."

"Has anything bitten you so far?"

She realized that he was not going to change his mind about making love to her out of doors. She ungraciously admitted, "Yes. You."

"Then I will continue to do so with milady's permission." He took her in his arms. "Unless you truly do want me to stop." He brushed his thumb across the softness of her lips. "If you are truly uncomfortable…"

"No, Jean-Luc. Let's make love under the stars. It's been a long time since I've done something this ridiculous…"

"Or juvenile? Or since before we made love for the first time on SB 74?"

This time when she tried to swat him, he captured her hand and pressed it against his body.

"You're as randy as a teenager tonight, Jean-Luc. What's gotten into you."

"The company I keep, mon coeur."

"Damn you," she laughed. "I can never stay angry with you when you're like this."

Before he completely succumbed to their passion, he had to ask, "Do you forgive me?"

"No."

But then she kissed him. He had a suspicion that she was in the process of doing so.

She looked into his eyes believing for the first time, that she could see herself reflected there. And smiled. "One of these days, I may forgive you. And only because you did have the good sense not to invite Vash to LaBarre."

Picard laughed out loud, a sound filled with the joy of his heart.

It was a pleasing sound to her. She'd so rarely heard his laugh this carefree before. All worrisome thoughts were banished before they had a chance to fester. She had a feeling that for the first time, she was encountering that part of him that was searching for his freedom. She didn't think he'd ever revealed this fragment of his soul to her before.

Relaxing against her, stretching out to lie next to her on the rock and its framework of soft, scented grass, Jean-Luc returned to the task of pleasuring his lady. "Beverly."

"Yes, Jean-Luc." Her voice was breathy as she guided his hand to the tie at the waist of her wrap-around skirt. When his hand encountered the warm silken flesh, he stopped fingering her long enough to whisper, "Beverly."

And then he waited. This time she did not disappoint.

"I love you, Jean-Luc."

He devoted himself to Beverly, satisfied that they were at last in accord. Beneath his ministrations she began twisting against him, needing something more from him that mere touches. 

Beverly moaned, lost in the rushing sensations of his action.

"Hold me, my love," he instructed as he returned to worshipping her.

She did more than that as she rubbed him, searching out every millimeter of him, torturing him with fairy guided touches.

He retaliated. This time she gasped when he touched her. He rested his head against her lap as he continued to soothingly stroke her as the pleasure enwrapped her until the time came when she was quiescent under his loving touch.

"Why, Jean-Luc?" was her weak response.

He lifted his head but didn't answer her question. The laughter in his eyes told her that it indeed had been a foolish question.

"Damn you, Jean-Luc," she groaned as she crossed her arm over her eyes.

"You're still flushed," he idly commented.

"If you can tell that in the moonlight, you have better eyesight than any ordinary human."

"If you can speak to me with such coherent phrases immediately after what I just did to you - well, I must be losing my touch. I will endeavor to do better the next time."

She mentally groaned again, as she tried not to react to the promises behind his words. Then she felt his hands moving again.

"Your turn?"

He moved up her body, placing random kisses along the way, finally getting around to removing her tank top. Her breath was uneven as she shifted to accommodate him.

"Our turn," he finally got around to explaining as he removed his pants and short boots; then he returned to loving Beverly.

There was a heightened awareness between them as he settled on his side against her. He needed to take a few deep breaths before he could speak to her with a modicum of sense.

"When I'm with you Beverly, I don't need anything else to intoxicate me."

"Damn you, Jean-Luc…"

"No," his voice rasped. "Together."

Unable to restrain himself any more, he caught her up to him, and pulled her on top, kissing her fiercely. With deep passion. The time for torturous teasing had passed.

"Beverly?" It was an unspoken question, as if seeking her permission.

"Jean-Luc."

She rose up against him, inviting him with her body. They were going to expire with pleasure, together. Pure animal instinct dominated. She screamed as her orgasm shook through her, rippling through her body until it connected with him. He collapsed on top of her. They both fell with a thud onto the rock. Neither noticed the slight scrapes that they had just earned.

For a brief moment, Jean-Luc wondered if he had bruised her. He waited until her breathing was more calm before he tried to move away from her. She wouldn't let him go. She shifted on to her hip so that they were now face to face again, in each other's arms.

Kissing him lightly on the tip of his nose, she sighed, "Thank you, Jean-Luc."

"What for?" he teased, as if it was too much of an effort to say the words.

"For loving me enough." She drifted off, permitting him to hold her in his protective embrace, as sleep claimed her. The past few days had been quite trying, and until she had known that he was well and truly safe, she had had little sleep.

He was amused. Usually, she was the one who admonished him about falling asleep in her arms in post-coital bliss. He would tease her about this in a little while. But for now, he was almost content enough to hold her and gaze at all the glory of the stars above. They equaled the glory he was holding in his arms.

Hours later, she moaned. Her abused muscles protested against any movement.

"I'm sleeping on a rock," she muttered to herself even before she opened her eyes.

"True," her lover whispered, placing a kiss against her forehead.

She looked about, noting the blackness. The moon had set. But then she sensed a slight growth of light from over the hill. "Damn. It's near dawn. Jean-Luc, we have to get back to the camp." 

She sat up, searching for her blouse. "What are we going to tell people."

"If we do encounter anyone, we'll tell them that we're early risers?"

She found his silk shirt and put it on instead. "Pray we don't meet anyone." She said this through gritted teeth. Her body was not used to sleeping on rocks. It was protesting. A lot.

"Yes, Beverly."

She tried to straighten out her clothing. Considering what they'd been doing on top of their clothing only a few hours earlier, trying to appear presentable was going to be impossible.

She stood and tied her skirt about her, stuffing her panties into a pocket. Then she watched him. Sometime during the night he had put on his pants and boots.

"You can always blame me, Beverly."

"You better believe I will."

"It's a good thing that Number One isn't around." She could see his broad smile in the few rays of light left from their lamp.

He stood and picked up her blouse and chemise, then tucked them into his jerkin pocket.

"Don't worry about Will, Jean-Luc. Deanna's told me enough about his antics. He won't ever dare tease us."

Picard paused before donning his jerkin. He was almost afraid to ask what Beverly had told Deanna about him.

She took a few steps down the path. "Jean-Luc?" She held up high the lantern.

"Beverly."

He walked over to her and took the lantern from her hands, holding it up so that the light spilled across her face. He kissed her lightly.

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

He kissed her again. "This campout was a lot more fun than the one on KesPrytt."

She controlled her laughter as she followed him down the path, holding onto his free arm. "Are you going to do this to me every morning? Annoy me and love me at the same time?"

"Only with your permission, mon coeur…"

She smiled in acceptance. "I am not going to take the captain's chair on the Clara Barton."

He halted their progress. "Why ever not? Why did you change your mind?"

"At first I accepted. But then I came to realize that I will always be a doctor first, and then a Starfleet officer. You made some valid points about my loyalties, Jean-Luc. It is better that I be what I was meant to be. I've already told the Admiralty that I prefer to be a doctor."

"I hope that they consider it to be Starfleet's loss." He gazed at her a moment thinking that she'd never looked lovelier. "I'll come with you if you wish, on board the Barton. As a civilian."

"Jean-Luc, only family is usually allowed."

"I think they'll make an exception in my case." He grinned. "As an amateur archaeologist on occasion, I've had the opportunity to discover where quite a few bodies are buried in the Admiralty. They will accommodate my request."

Six days later, Beverly was beginning to understand why Jean-Luc was so enthusiastic about digging in the mud. They'd already found a proto-Vulcan hand-hammered ceremonial neck plate that was an astonishing and beautiful example of an early metalworker's art.

Picard made sure that his tricorder had a perfect record of the necklace. He knew that he'd never be able to obtain the original for private ownership. It did belong in a museum.

But one day, he would have a metal smith recreate this piece for Beverly.

Beverly hoped that the nature of her passionate relationship with Jean-Luc would go unnoticed, even though every night they retired together to the shuttle. Even Vash had been oddly silent about it. She had stopped trying to seduce Jean-Luc almost every waking moment. She only made half-hearted attempts a few times every day, more as a matter of principle than of actual desire.

In the dig, Jean-Luc was the soul of decorum and proper behavior. He worked hard and taught Beverly her duties as well. It surely didn't matter to anyone with the dig, that Jean-Luc and Beverly took a long lunch together, every day. Or so he thought.

Later that day, Jean-Luc told Beverly that he was going to leave the dig. The work that Dr. Storal needed to have done required someone who could devote at least a year of working full-time on it. Jean-Luc could not be that person.

So, he made his apologies to the Vulcan. Fortunately, the Vulcan was as logical as other members of his race, accepting and understanding Picard's explanations.

During their final dinner together, Dr. Storal thanked Jean-Luc and Beverly for their help. And for Jean-Luc's interesting theories about proto-Vulcan cultures. He had not realized that some Federation officers had found the topic to be fascinating.

Dr. Storal also did comment upon the fact that he did not know that humans went through pon farr too.

The look on Picard's face was priceless…

Vash laughed so hard that she fell off of her chair.

Later that night, Jean-Luc took a walk about the camp. After he'd made his duty farewells, Vash accosted him on the way back. "Weren't you even going to say so long, Sweetheart, Jean-Luc?"

"Of course I was. Tomorrow."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

She put her arms around his neck and wouldn't let him step away. "After all I did for you to try and save you? I deserve at least a kiss. Beverly can spare that much at least." And kiss him, she did.

For a moment, Jean-Luc recalled precisely why he'd found Vash trouble in the first place.

"Will you miss me, Jean-Luc?"

"Possibly."

She knew him well enough to know that he would not relinquish an inch. "Well, I know that our paths will cross again."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Why, Jean-Luc. You've seen life beyond Starfleet. They'll try, but they won't be able to keep you in their safe little boxes any more. You've tasted freedom."

"Vash, I am in Starfleet because that is precisely where I wish to be."

"And Beverly?"

"None of your business."

"Okay. But I will be seeing you, Jean-Luc." She turned to go.

Jean-Luc stopped her.

"What, Jean-Luc?"

He pulled her back into his arms, and kissed her lustily. Properly. "Vash, thank you. And adieu."

The next morning, Jean-Luc and Beverly left Gaudete II. They spent the remainder of Beverly's leave on Risa. Not that where they spent it really mattered. They rarely left their suite.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

"Geordi, why can't we get married right away? It would save us both time and energy if we could get married here or at G-6."

Geordi put on his visor, and scanned his beloved. He could tell she was agitated in spite of the fact that they both were naked in bed.

"Leah, I only plan on being married once in my life. And that is to you. I want my father and my sister at my wedding. I want all our friends. I want a bachelor party. I want to remove a garter from your lovely leg. I want us to eat our wedding cake together. And I really want to us to dance our first dance, to a real live band. I want all of the schmaltz. And the fun. And the angst. And to carry you across the threshold on our wedding night."

"And you probably even want Data as your best man."

"Yeah. I'd like that too."

Leah looked about the Embassy suite they were sharing as they waited for Will Riker to return from wherever it was he'd gone off to.

"Will and Reg are here, Geordi. Wouldn't they be enough? We could throw a large party when we get back to Earth for everyone else."

"Leah." He lifted up her hand and kissed her palm. "Why don't you tell me the real reason as to why you want to get married right away?"

"You've never met my family."

"And?" He waited.

"That's it."

"You're afraid they're not going to accept me? Because I'm blind?"

"No, of course not, Geordi."

"Then what, Leah?"

"They're crazy! They're normal! Mundane! My mother alone will send you running away screaming, in only a few minutes."

“I've met Lwaxana Troi, remember? Is she worse than the Ambassador?"

"Well, Mrs. Troi is rather unusual, I believe. I rather liked her though. My mother is nothing like her at all."

"Just remember that it took a Klingon warrior to find the courage to put up with Lwaxana as a mother-in-law…"

She put her arms around Geordi's neck. "Let's compromise."

"I like the sound of that."

"We'll have your grand marriage on Earth. I'll even brush up on my dancing skills. But until we do get married, we'll live together, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"I've yet to tell you about my brothers. My two big, older brothers. They're the worst. They both are professional athletes. You know anything about football?"

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Will Riker politely knocked on the door, expecting to get tossed off of the porch. Instead, Mr. Homm bowed and let him in.

"It's late, Will Riker," Lwaxana announced standing in the hallway to her private wing.

For a moment, Will was distracted. She was wearing some sort of lime and purple thing. It was assaulting the darkness, glowing in what appeared to be random, violent patterns. Then he found his voice "Care for a little discussion, Lwaxana Troi?" He glared at Mr. Homm. "In private?"

"Mr. Homm, go to bed." She waved her hand, summarily dismissing him. "Come, Will. Or should I call you son-in-law Number Two?"

He followed her into what he only assumed was her lair, although normal people might refer to it as a library.

"I can sense that you're accusing me of something, captain. What, might I ask?"

"How could you do what you did to your own daughter, Lwaxana? I can understand how you might not care for me…"

"I love my daughter, Will Riker! I would do nothing to hurt her!"

"And what if Worf didn't understand your motives? You could have broken Deanna's heart."

"You did that!"

"And I will continue to pay for that mistake the rest of my life. But you risked more than that, Lwaxana. I know Worf. I know him well. He is Klingon! You could have pushed him beyond the point of no return. And destroyed two lives in the process. Were your foolish games worth such a risk?"

"Worf loves Deanna. I sensed that he was worthy of her the very first time I met him."

"Klingon rules of conduct are different than ours!" Will was disgusted with her, and made sure that she felt his feelings.

"You are wrong, Will Riker. When I created the Parallax holoprogram for Alexander, Worf got in the mud baths along with us. That is when I knew he loved my daughter the right way, for he let Deanna see him like that. Can you imagine a Klingon deliberately covering himself with mud? It had to be love."

Will found the bar and poured himself some Bajoran whiskey. He poured a glass for Lwaxana too.

"Don't interfere with their marriage," he warned.

"You know, you've never forgiven me for what I did to you all those years ago."

"I don't feel inclined to have a forgiving nature toward you, Lwaxana."

She nodded. "I understand. I haven't forgiven you either for all your nasty thoughts about me." She dramatically sighed. Then finished off her whiskey in one gulp. "Pity you're not really Deanna's husband Number Two. You'd have made such beautiful babies with my daughter. That's the one thing you have in your favor over Worf."

From the opposite end of the room a metal sculpture crashed to the floor. Lwaxana had been so occupied with dealing with Will, she hadn't paid attention and noticed if there was anyone else in the dark corners of the room.

Helena Rozhenko held up a book. "I couldn't sleep so I came in here to get something to read." She ignored Will Riker. "You were saying something about my son? If you don't want Worf's grandchildren, then I will be their grandmother alone!"

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

Neither lady noticed when Will retreated. He had a big smile on his face. Lwaxana had met her match with Helena.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Beverly rolled over in their bed and watched Jean-Luc get dressed. She appreciated the view. "What did Captain Halloway say to you?"

"Admiral Nechayev wishes to see me when we reach Utopia Planetia. Halloway mentioned it after he gave me our travel arrangements to the Enterprise memorial ceremony."

"For shame! Halloway is not our travel agent. Is that any way to treat the captain of this ship who has welcomed you so graciously?"

Jean-Luc sighed. Beverly was right. Captain Thomas Halloway had been more than gracious in the treatment of ex-captain Picard. Halloway had respected his opinion, and even asked for it on occasion. The first three months of the maiden voyage of the U.S.S. Clara Barton had gone quite smoothly, thanks to an occasional assist from a civilian math teacher.

It had taken Jean-Luc several weeks before he'd finally gotten around to explaining to Beverly why he'd laughed so hard when he found out that Halloway was the captain of the Barton. For in an alternate universe, Captain Halloway had been Picard's captain when Q had turned Lieutenant Picard j.g. into a dreary man with a tedious job.

His time on the Barton had been good for him. To actually have all the time for Beverly that he wanted was a unique experience. And now, all of that was going to change.

"What are you going to say to Admiral Nechayev? Are you going to ask for a ship?"

"I'm not sure, Beverly. It is a definite possibility. There are some other choices as well." He knew she did not care for his answer, but his words were the truth. Jean-Luc knew what he was going to ask Alynna Nechayev to do for him. But he wasn't going to mention that option to Beverly until he learned of the Admiral's opinion - and cooperation.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

There was a different look about Will Riker now. It showed in his face, his attitude, the bounce in his step. He was a man who had finally accomplished one of his life's major goals. In less than five months, he would become the captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise 1701-E.

Though the formal announcement wouldn't be made until the ship was in its final stages of preparation, the informal announcement would be made privately after the memorial service for the Enterprise D in a few hours.

In the meantime, he'd flown a skeeter ship to Earth. For Data had mysteriously summoned him. He met Data at Carrie's home.

Carrie escorted Will to the room that Data now used as his office. Data had moved in with Carrie when he'd returned from Picard's rescue. It was a mutual decision that pleased them both.

Once the door was closed, Riker looked at Data in amazement. And amusement. "That woman pinched me!"

"Carrie is like that. Besides, Captain Riker, your reputation preceded you. Both Nella as well as myself have enlightened Carrie with a few stories." Data grinned, imitating somewhat, Captain Riker's own style of smile. "As I now understand human humor, Carrie has a weird one. I am sure the pinching of your bottom was nothing personal. Just an appreciation of your callipygian attributes which is a comment that others have made about you as well, Captain."

Somewhat bemused by what the android was saying, Will sat down. "Why the urgent summons, Data? We're going to meet at the ceremony."

"I needed to speak to you in private. I did not want any record of our conversation."

Will's joviality disappeared. He sensed that Data's intent was serious. "Go on, Data."

"You know about Jean-Luc. Will?'

"Only scuttlebutt."

"That is my difficulty, Will."

"What, Data?"

"I do not know how to proceed. Permit me to explain. Do you recall DaiMon Bok's relationship with Captain Picard?"

Will tried to hide his annoyance at Data's words. "Of course, Data. I don't think that any of us will forget that Ferengi."

"The Ferengi government paid Captain Picard a considerable amount of latinum in reparation for DaiMon Bok's actions. Twice actually. For the Stargazer revenge incident, and then with the matter of the DNA used to create a fake son for Captain Picard."

"And the issue is?"

"There is a substantial amount of credits in those accounts. Initially over twenty-two million bars of latinum." Riker blinked. "And someone, with Captain Picard's apparent permission, has been withdrawing latinum to purchase, amongst other things, questionable large amounts of quintotriticale, a five-lobed wheat hybrid."

"Why questionable, Mr. Data?"

"The grain is going to planets considered to be under the control of the Maquis."

Now, Will was beginning to get nervous. "What else is being purchased?"

"Medicines. Teaching programs. Plows. Seeds. Soap. Food or medical replicators. Fertilizer."

"Enough, Data. Is there anything being bought that is a direct threat to the Federation, Starfleet or the Cardassian Peace Treaty?"

"No. But these purchases are not the only issue of concern. There is more."

"Any of it directly traceable to Captain Picard?"

"Yes, Captain." Data nodded, and turned on a terminal. "Captain Jellico asked me to review the tapes of Ro Laren's escape. He seemed to think that Captain Picard in some way, assisted with Lieutenant Ro's flight from Federation custody."

Riker let out a sigh of relief. He had suspected ever since first hearing about what had happened on board the Cairo, that Jean-Luc had somehow been involved with the Bajoran's disappearance. So far, there had been no proof. But, something was disturbing Data.

"What?"

"Four days after Ro Laren escaped, Dr. Selar made a notation in her medical logs that she had removed a subcutaneous transponder from Captain Picard's arm. According to Captain Picard, this transponder was a way for the Vorlo captain to keep track of his crew."

"So, that's how Ragner found Ro Laren. Why is this a problem?"

"Why didn't Captain Picard mention to Captain Jellico the likelihood of Ro Laren having a transponder somewhere on her person?"

"Perhaps he didn't know Ro had one."

"Or, perhaps he forgot," Data suggested.

Will glared at Data. They both knew that this was highly improbable. "And your point is, Data?"

Data's concern was evident on his face.

Riker continued. "Perhaps we both should forget it. Period."

"Sir. I do not think that certain members of the Admiralty will view this information with the same understanding and acceptance of Jean-Luc Picard's character as we do."

Will knew that Data was right about this.

"I once said in a eulogy for myself, something about to know him is to love him. And to love him is to know him."

"I remember, Data. That was not one of the highlights of your speaking career."

Data accepted this criticism and moved on. "I know that we both hold Captain Picard in very high regard. That we, in one sense, love him. And because we both feel this way about him, we must do something. I see no reason to report any of my findings to Jellico or to anyone else. They prove nothing, and would only cause needless speculation and gossip."

"True. What would you want me to do?"

Data looked at his friend, and for the first time, searched for the proper words, knowing that Captain Riker could misunderstand his request quite easily. "Captain Riker, perhaps you could monitor, discreetly of course, Captain Picard's activities?"

Will barely kept himself from exploding. "Data! I will not spy on Captain Picard!"

"But what if the unthinkable is the truth? What if, for some reason, as impossible as it may seem, Captain Picard has become Maquis?"

Will Riker slammed his hand down onto Data's desk. Padds rattled. "How could you even think such a thing?"

"I must consider all possibilities." Data studied Will. "And because I deduce that you have considered such a possibility yourself, Sir. We suspect the same thing, Will."

"We are Jean-Luc's friends, Data."

"Captain Picard is a man of deep convictions. If, for some unexplainable reason, those convictions have altered, then as his friends we will be in a position to offer him our assistance to him as well as to protect Starfleet."

"Understood." He stood and nodded toward the door. "I'd better go. I'll see you at 1800. But until then, Data, consider this: what if Jean-Luc Picard helped Ro Laren to escape simply because he was her friend? And because no good purpose would be served if Ro were incarcerated? Remember, Data, that is the reason why I let Ro Laren escape, too."

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Rear-Admiral Alynna Nechayev absentmindedly nodded to the officers they passed by, acknowledging the respect they showed her rank. But she didn't really notice them. Her stroll with Captain Picard about the observation decks at UP was occupying all of her attention. Jean-Luc Picard was polite, congenial and absolutely infuriating. If she wasn't aware of all of the eyes that were observing them, she would be presenting another, much angrier face to this impossible man.

"My office - now!"

"As you wish, Alynna."

Once away from prying eyes, she turned on him. "You know what you ask? How impossible it is? How little chance there is for you to actually succeed?"

"But there is a chance, Admiral. Peace in the DMZ."

"If I sanction this…"

"I'm not requesting that, Alynna."

She wearily sighed and leaned back against her fancy desk. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a ship? I've got a very pretty one that will be available in almost a year's time. It will be the greatest ship in Starfleet and you'd be her captain again."

"I'd heard that Will Riker was being offered that big chair."

"There's nothing official. Riker can wait."

"So can I."

"But you can't." She stood and glared at him. "You cannot wait, Captain Picard. Jean-Luc, if you don't take this particular captain's chair, no admiral at Starfleet Command will ever offer you another captain's chair again."

Picard closed his eyes. "I know…"

For a moment, she just looked at him; damning him for being the officer and gentleman that he had always been. Sometimes, he was just too damned noble for his own damned good. She accepted his decision, admiring the courage that it took to make his decision, yet feeling pity for her captain at the same time. He would be giving up so much…everything that he held dear…

=/\= =/\= =/\=

The stein clunked against the clear aluminum window as Jean-Luc picked it up. He straightened up and then drank deeply from his tankard of amber ale, staring out into the space. There were thirty-seven different viewing lounges in the Utopia Planetia station that was orbiting Mars. Picard found the one that was closest to where the 1701-E was being constructed - the Greystoke lounge.

And he sat alone in this lounge, drinking his ale, and watching the ship of his heart being built. He would never ever be her captain…

He unbuttoned the collar to his dark blue civilian dress jacket, then took another sip of ale.

"Pretty ship."

Picard glanced over at the speaker and glared at her.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Picard wasn't surprised that Guinan had found him. Guinan had always found him during the turning points of his life.

"Guinan, I have told you not to refer to the Enterprise as a pretty ship. You know better."

"That was your Enterprise, Jean-Luc. This Enterprise belongs to Captain Will Riker. Pretty women. Pretty ships. That's Riker."

"Wonderful character assessment, Guinan."

"Glad to hear that you still have your sense of humor, Jean-Luc. I was wondering if you still did. Besides, you did your job in teaching Will how to be a ship's captain. Soon it will be my turn to instruct him."

Jean-Luc audibly sighed then motioned to the pitcher of ale. "Care for some?"

"What? No swanky Picard family vintage wine for this Enterprise?"

"When this Enterprise is actually launched, I'll provide Captain Riker with the appropriate bottles." He poured some more ale into his tankard. "Tonight, I simply felt like drinking ale."

Guinan poured a glass and glugged down quite a bit of it. "That was a nice memorial ceremony. Did you like it?"

"I did not care for it and you know that. Having to politely smile at all those diplomats, officials… politicians." He said the later as if it were a Klingon curse word.

"Your decision, Jean-Luc. Are you still a captain? For rumor has it that you are about to become an admiral."

He sent her a scathing look. "And since when did you pay attention to gossip?"

"I am a barkeep. I always do." She drank some more ale. "When does it become official?"

"Soon. Too soon."

"What does Beverly thing about your plans?"

"I have yet to tell the lady."

Guinan laughed. "When it comes to women you're still a fool, Jean-Luc." She patted his hand. "You're a brave man over just about everything else, but when it comes to Beverly, you're still a fool. Tell her."

She finished off her drink. "You have some sort of vision about resolving the Maquis problem. You really think that as an admiral you can mediate between the Maquis, the Cardassians, the Federation, and everyone else in between?"

"Why not include the Romulans as well?"

"Sure. Why not. They all trust you, Jean-Luc." Guinan ignored Jean-Luc's sarcasm. She sat down next to him, carefully draping her raw umber robes about her body. "You are determined to do this, aren't you, Jean-Luc? Regardless of the high personal cost?"

"Guinan, you speak as if I have a choice. I will do my duty. Peace demands it."

"And what of Beverly? Does she even suspect what you are planning? Or have you convinced her that you like playing house on board the Cairo? That you're content?"

"No."

"I wonder why I tolerate you, Jean-Luc. You're no fun."

With these words, Jean-Luc softly laughed.

"What? Did I miss something, Jean-Luc?"

"First Q, and now you. I can assure you Guinan, that when given the opportunity, I have been known to have fun. Just ask Beverly."

"Now, that would be an unbiased opinion. Woman is besotted with you."

Jean-Luc perked up when he heard the word besotted. "Really?"

Guinan shook her head in disgust. "What's gotten into all of you, turning the Enterprise into a love boat. First you. Then Geordi. The comic opera that is Will, Worf and Deanna. Even Barclay and that Maquis friend of yours - Mela."

"What?"

"She met Reg on the trip back to Earth. He's been attempting to court her ever since. But, you know Broccoli." Her nose wrinkled as she thought of something. "You should have given him some pointers. From what Marie says, that man stutters every time he's around Mela."

Picard mentally noted that Guinan knew his sister-in-law. He wasn't that surprised. Guinan looked at him as if she was expecting a response. "Fortunately Mela is a patient woman."

Guinan snorted. "None of this is part of my grand plan."

"Then you admit that you do manipulate events?"

"Of course." She serenely smiled. "That's what my people do. We listen. We manipulate. Ever since I promised the captain of the Enterprise that I'd take care of his ship, I've been doing it to you."

Picard considered her words. "When did you make that promise to me?"

"Whoever ever said I made it to you?"

"Guinan."

She knew what that implacable tone of voice meant. "My vow goes back centuries. But, more recent events did include James T. Captain Kirk is one of the reasons as to why I sought you out.

The Nexus…

"I thought we met when I was an ensign."

"You were always captain of the Enterprise D. You just didn't know it way back then."

"And now that I am to be an admiral?"

"You don't need me anymore. Riker does."

"I'd like to think that in some ways, I will always need you, Guinan. You're a dear friend."

Guinan chuckled softly. The wings of her hat undulated with her movements. "Well, don't tell Riker. I like my starship captains off balance. Easier to control, that way."

He clasped his fingers together, almost touching the tip of his forefinger to his nose. "And I was that easy to control?"

"It would serve you right if I agreed. Truth is, I can only count a few times when I ever had the advantage."

"I see."

Guinan almost smiled as she read his mood correctly. "I never shared Captain Kirk's bed, Jean-Luc. My advice was strictly platonic."

"I didn't ask, Guinan."

"But you wanted to, Jean-Luc."

He harrumphed. "And your relationship with Captain Riker?"

"None of your business, Jean-Luc." Guinan shook her head before he could speak again. "Leave it be, Jean-Luc. Believe it or not, Will Riker has a great deal to learn."

"I almost envy the man your lessons."

"There are some areas where you never needed any instruction, Jean-Luc." And Guinan offered him her fondest smile. "Riker will have to work rather hard in order to be half as good a captain as you once were." She shrugged. "But I'm not going to tell him that. Not yet, anyway. I wouldn't want to discourage my newest pupil."

"I don't think I've told you thank you often enough, Guinan."

"Your welcome."

They sat in silence for a while, staring at a ship being built.

"You're my friend, Jean-Luc."

He smiled, then poured himself some more ale. He refilled her glass too. "Actually Guinan, we moved beyond friendship ages ago. Or was it centuries?"

"So we did. So it was." She finished off this glass. "So we did, my friend." She stood and stared off towards the promenade beyond the lounge's crystal doorway. "Maybe we should be getting back to the memorial reception." She straightened out her robes. "Beverly is looking for you."

"And I've found you," a voice said from the shadows. Beverly stepped into the starlight.

"Hello, Guinan." She glanced over at Jean-Luc. "Did you know that Q is here?"

Guinan nodded, smiling in anticipation. "Don't worry, Jean-Luc. I'll tend to Q. He'll behave. I have his promise."

Beverly looked a little nervous. "Guinan, he's been singing something very strange to Worf. Something about: And we'll have fun, fun, fun, 'til Nechayev takes the E Bird away. Do you have any idea what this means?"

"It means that Captain Will Riker is about to inherit some of your old problems, Jean-Luc." Guinan cast up a hairless eyebrow. "Think he's up to handling Q?"

"If I were a betting man, my money would be on Will Riker."

Guinan snorted. "Jackass."

For a moment, Jean-Luc was lost in his ruminations about the very idea that Q had decided to honor the Enterprise-D with his presence at the memorial ceremony.

Beverly sensed his wandering thoughts. "Jean-Luc, have you forgotten about Data's concert tonight?"

"Of course not." He stood, tugging down his formal jacket. "I look forward to it."

Guinan almost believed him too. "Give Data some credit, Jean-Luc." Guinan stepped into the shadows, softly adding, "I'll see you at Geordi's wedding, tomorrow. I'm tending bar."

Beverly walked with him toward their quarters for a while, before she dryly commented, "I would have never guessed that Guinan was the one… But now, she does seem to be the perfectly logical choice."

"Guinan is the one, what?" He was the picture of perfect captainly innocence.

She held her tongue. This was a conversation she definitely wished to hold in the privacy of their bedroom at the appropriate time.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

"I will understand if you wish to rescind your offer," Worf gruffly stated.

Riker hated it when Worf was at his most serious, dedicated Klingon best. The effort it took to get beyond the officiousness required time that Riker didn't feel like spending at the moment. He had other things on his mind - Deanna being foremost. News of the lady's pregnancy had come as a major shock to him.

"Worf. I want you as my second officer. Hell, you might even end up as my first officer if I can't convince Data to join me."

"I do not want either position."

Will bit back his first response. "Worf, what is the matter?"

No answer.

"Lieutenant Commander Worf, I order you to tell me. Is there something wrong? With Deanna?"

"No."

This time Will sighed out loud. "Worf…"

"Deanna's child. It is a boy."

"That's good news, isn't it, Worf?"

"You are the father." Worf grunted, knowing that this bit of news would leave Will Riker without a tongue. He was right.

They were conversing during the cocktail reception before Data's composition would be premiered by the Edgar Rice Burroughs Philharmonic Orchestra. Neither man noticed a radiant Deanna approaching them on the glistening crystal promenade.

"Riker would be a fine name for a Klingon son. Riker Rozhenko," Worf formally stated.

Will hoped he didn't look as green as he felt. "What are you going to tell people? Starfleet?" Riker questioned, when he regained use of his vocal cords. "Uh, won't someone notice that your son isn't half-Klingon?"

Worf didn't know how to answer him.

"You were the sperm donor," a musical, sweet voice said from behind the backs of the two gentlemen. Both men whirled and almost spilled their synthehol ales on their dress uniforms.

Will shook his head as conflicting emotions waged war with his common sense.

"It is the truth," Worf observed, suddenly pleased with Deanna's explanation, relaxing with the knowledge that everyone's honor could be mutually preserved.

Sperm donor…

Will Riker had to admit that he never, ever thought that would be the way that Deanna would one day describe him.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Ro Laren looked about the school compound on Macias, and smiled, wondering if Jean-Luc Picard would ever know about all that his credits had wrought. She'd asked the miners of this Maquis settlement to name their new school after their benefactor - John Luke Galen. She had a feeling that if Johnny ever learned about this dedication, he might be amused.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Jean-Luc Picard could not even imagine what Data with his newly acquired emotions would compose. He just knew that it would most definitely be of interest. Sitting next to Beverly, they waited for the conductor to approach the podium, to guide the orchestra in the final offering listed in the concert program.  
Beverly leaned closer to him and whispered, "Have you read the program?"

He opened up the glossy holographic brochure.

Tasha Yar… K'ehlyr… Eline… Lal…

They were the titles to the segments that formed Data's tone poem, Memoriam…

Beverly leaned even closer to him, her hair falling off of her shoulder, brushing against his cheek. He was momentarily distracted.

"Eline… Wasn't she from Kataan…"

"Yes. Somehow, Data has learned of her…"  
The music began. Data performed a violin solo along with other soloists, each playing in their turn a Vulcan version of a cello, a Valtese flugelhorn and a flute. Picard listened for a while, then closed his eyes as the tears formed. He suspected that future musicologists would make note of the importance of this date in Martian concert history.

The next afternoon, Jean-Luc wandered into the bar adjacent to the ballroom where the Brahms-LaForge reception was being held. It was going on in full force with all the flair of a Riker planned party. And as Geordi LaForge's former commanding officer, he had never suspected that his chief engineer was such a traditionalist when it came to marriage. Or that Geordi and Leah would invite just about everyone they knew including the Daystrom Institute and the boisterous riggers and builders from the Utopia Planetia yards.

He sought refuge as Guinan in her imperial purple flashing robes, drew him a tap ale. For the moment, they were alone in this silver and blue room with its solid clear aluminum wall, floating above the bay where the new ships were under construction.

Guinan handed Picard a steaming blue Tanoogian Tanker. "Here. You'll need this."

Picard was about to ask for an explanation when Riker and Worf entered the bar. Riker was sweating.

"Damn. That's some band." He nodded his greeting to Guinan. She placed more Tanoogian ales in front of them. Riker wiped his brow on his sleeve and then grabbed the closest tankard. "I wonder if they'd let me join them."

"The band members are friends of Data. They're professionals."

Riker gave Guinan his best wounded little boy look. "After all those jam sessions in Ten Forward, you don't think I could succeed as a professional musician?"

"No."

"I've been practicing my Night Bird."

"Practice won't help you," Guinan remarked as she sent an all-knowing glance in Jean-Luc's direction. The former captain of the Enterprise was hiding his laughter behind blue bubbles.

"She's right, Number One. You'd be better off remaining a starship captain. You have more of a talent for it."

"Et tu, Jean-Luc?"

"Enough!" a frustrated Worf snapped. On Jean-Luc's somewhat censuring look, he explained, "That woman!"

"You put your right foot in, you put your right foot out…"

Three heads pivoted in the direction of the door. Worf didn't have to explain anything more to the soon-to-be Admiral Picard.

Lwaxana Troi stopped her singing when she saw the men standing at the bar. "Oh, there you are, Woofie." She swooshed over to them, quite zaftig in her luminescent aqua gown which rivaled Guinan's for its flapping power. "Don't these humans have the quaintest dances at their weddings? Who would have ever guessed that shaking something would be a Terran tradition? I usually thought that the hoking poking part happened during the honeymoon..."

"Mrs. Troi." Picard patiently greeted the lady.

She ignored Jean-Luc and walked over to Worf, twining her arm through his. "And how is my favorite son-in-law today? Are you well? You left the dance floor rather quickly."

"I don't think that Klingons know how to put their right foot in," Riker drolly explained as he surprised even himself by leaning over, kissing Lwaxana's cheek. "Hello, Lwaxana. You look radiant. I didn't know that you knew Commander LaForge well enough to be invited to his wedding."

"Since when does a Daughter of the Fifth House of Betazed need an invitation?" she haughtily sniffed. "And I feel radiant because I share what my daughter feels." She scowled at Worf. "At a time when a daughter needs her mother most."

"Deanna needs to be with her husband," Worf argued. Weariness colored his voice.

"Her mother!" Lwaxana retorted.

Picard had a feeling that this was not the first time Worf and Lwaxana had had this discussion.

"Let Deanna decide," Will suggested.

"Stay out of this!" both Lwaxana and Worf retorted together. "You've already done your part, Will Riker," Lwaxana added.

"Now, this is getting interesting," Guinan whispered to Jean-Luc. "I've heard rumors…"

"Mother! There you are!" Deanna stood in the doorway to the bar. Everyone turned to look at her, a beautiful sight in cherry red floral silk. She was accompanied by Beverly who was gorgeous in a peridot to azure gown.

Worf strode over to them, dragging Lwaxana along. "Doctor - is something wrong? Is Deanna in pain?" He reached for his wife.

Lwaxana tugged on Worf's arm. "If my daughter were in pain I'd feel it! I feel all her emotions!"

"All her emotions?" Guinan innocently asked as she walked over to the little group and handed the ladies two pink lemonades. Perhaps her smile changed slightly as she watched a human blench, and a Klingon etiolate. Her mission accomplished, Guinan returned to watch the entertainment from behind the bar.

It was Riker who escorted the two ladies to a table, for now it was Worf clutching Lwaxana's arm. He wouldn't let go as the mother tried to get to her daughter.

"Do not upset Deanna!" Worf ordered.

"Stuff it, Woofie!"

Not feeling inclined to mediate between a Betazed ambassador who was foolish enough to do battle with a Klingon, Jean-Luc opened several bottles, then served as waiter, distributing filled champagne goblets.

"It's not French, but it will do," Jean-Luc stated as he went to stand by Beverly. Before he could lift his glass, more people came into the lounge. Data, Geordi and Leah, Reg and Mela received champagne glasses as well. Jean-Luc proposed a toast. "To Geordi and Leah. May they live long and prosper."

Guinan spoke up. "To all the newlyweds!"

Lwaxana had no choice but to drink to this toast. "Worf, say something!" She prodded him in the ribs.

"To all the captains of the Enterprise - and the future!" He placed his hand on Deanna's stomach. Then he realized something. Worf roared, "YOU called me WORF!"

"Oops. I forgot."

Beverly added, "And to her crew…"

For a moment all were silent.

"To our brilliant composer," Deanna mentioned choosing to ignore her mother.

"How were the reviews, Data? Were you as well received by the critics as you were by the audience?" Riker politely asked.

"Yes, Captain. Forty-seven different reviewers seemed to approve of my tone poem. And nine of the reviews did not even mention the fact that I am an android."

"Very good, Data. I am sure that I speak for all of us when I say how very proud of you we all are," Jean-Luc formally remarked. For a moment his eyes glowed with the pleasure that he was feeling over how far Data had come. "Your composition is an extraordinary orchestral work, Mr. Data. It truly touched my heart. And your use of an old folk melody meant a great deal to me personally."

Data seemed to understand this and nodded in agreement, taking a glass of champagne himself. "To all my friends. I thank you for all of your support as you teach me how to become human." He actually sipped and then analyzed the chemical composition of the champagne.

Lwaxana ignored Data as she focused her attentions of Dr. Leah Brahms-LaForge who was stunningly beautiful in a long gown of embroidered gold silk. Lwaxana didn't mind a bride outshining herself on a wedding day.

"Doctor, are you pregnant?"

Unaccustomed to associating with someone as original as Lwaxana Troi. Leah - Dr. Brahms professionally and Leah LaForge privately - began to consider the possibility that all of Reginald Barclay's stories and her husband's surely exaggerated tales about this flamboyant Betazed might actually have some basis in the truth. She looked over at Geordi who seemed to be having some sort of trouble breathing, paused, and then replied, "No. Are you pregnant?"

Lwaxana reacted to her daughter's thoughts and complained, "Don't think such things to me, Little One! Leah and Geordi's daughter would be a perfect candidate for a genetic bonding betrothal with my grandson…"

"Nooo!" Deanna wailed, mortified. Then she started pounding her head against the closest broad masculine chest which just so happened to be her hovering husband, Worf. Near babbling, Deanna burbled into Worf's dress tunic, "Great-Grandchildren! She's already plotting for her great-grandchildren!" She cast her horrified gaze upon her husband's face. "She's never going to stop her scheming!"

"Well, someone has to scheme!" Lwaxana huffed. "How else do you think you are going to get grandchildren?"

"Where are you going on your honeymoon, Geordi?" Guinan asked, deciding to avert attention away from Deanna, privately judging that red was a good color for Deanna when she wore it, but was not a good color for her when she was it.

"Uh, Risa," Geordi commented, still fascinated by the rapidly changing readings he was scanning between Deanna, Worf and Will.

"You'll love it," Beverly commented to Leah. "It's such a restful planet. And there are so many wonderful restaurants."

"How would you know?" Lwaxana cattily asked. "You never left your hotel room the last time you were there!"

Data scanned the crowd and their varying reactions, and decided that he must do something to aid his friends. He researched his memory bank, came up with a facial expression that he believed would approximate the charming smile of a long-dead actor named Valentino with a reputation for roguish magnetism, acquired the mannerisms of another actor catalogued as Cary Grant, and then strode over to Lwaxana Troi. He firmly placed one arm about her waist and the other upon her shoulder. He lifted the lady up about twelve centimeters off of the deck. 

His smile twisted somewhat as he politely asked, "Shall we dance?"

"Data? What?" Lwaxana sputtered.

He lifted her higher off of the floor. "Tango. I shall instruct you if you do not know how. I have had the best teacher."

He stepped toward the ballroom as Lwaxana continued sputtering.

"PUT ME DOWN!"

Data leaned closer to her ear and whispered something. He stopped moving when she started to struggle, pounding her hands against his android shoulders, shrieking, "WHAT! WHAT DO   
YOU MEAN YOU ARE FULLY FUNCTIONAL?"

Data embraced Lwaxana more closely, swirled her about until she was dizzy, and then did something that shut her up. She now meekly went into the dance.

After they left, there was silence in the bar for a very long moment. Deanna lifted her head off of her husband's chest and looked about her friends, wondering how her Mother could have possibly missed embarrassing Reg and Mela. Usually, Lwaxana was more thorough.

"Now that was worth the price of a wedding present," Guinan observed as she walked about refilling champagne goblets.

Several hours later, Jean-Luc and Beverly strolled down a starlit corridor toward their quarters. They both were feeling rather mellow and pleasantly tired at the moment. Jean-Luc had his arm tightly embracing Beverly's silk clad waist. Every now and then, when there were no apparent observers in the corridor, she would pause and kiss him. Then he would have to stop to return the favor.

"Thank you, Beverly," he mentioned between kisses.

"For what? For getting you finally out onto the dance floor?"

"I must confess…"

Beverly was rather interested in hearing any confession from him.

"…that dancing with the Dancing Doctor was something that I had feared. I've not had much practice - dancing."

She stiffened in his arms. "How long have you know about that nickname? And who told you?" She demanded to know.

He distracted her with a kiss. It was a fairly successful attempt because neither one noticed an ensign flanked by a security guard approaching until the Antarian ensign cleared his multi-ruffled throat.

Jean-Luc automatically reacted as if he were still in Starfleet. "Yes, Ensign?"

The ensign politely nodded then stated, "Captain Crusher, Admiral Blackwell requests your presence at ops. Mr. Picard, if you would please accompany us as well?"

Picard nodded, then followed the guard keeping pace with the ensign. He shared a look with Beverly, each knowing better than to ask out loud any questions of this ensign.

A few minutes later they were at the ops center. Picard inwardly faltered for a moment when besides Admiral Blackwell, he also observed the presence of Admirals Haftel, Kennelly, Nakamura and Nechayev. Will Riker was there as well along with Jellico, Worf and Mr. Data.

Admiral Blackwell led all of them into the adjoining conference room. Sitting down, she studied Beverly and Jean-Luc for a moment before she announced, "Captain Crusher, I regret to inform you that the USS Clara Barton was in a battle five hours ago. She was escorting supply ships to the Federation outpost at Minos Korva when the Barton was attacked by what we believe were two heavily armed Maquis ships. Two cargo ships were plundered."

Riker stepped forward and demanded, "My people - the skeeter cadets from SB G-6. This escort duty was their latest assignment. Were they involved?"

"Three cadets and their ships are listed as missing, Captain Riker - Cadets MacIntyre, Yamasaki and Cartwright."

Riker paled as he recalled the face of each cadet.

Blackwell focused on Beverly again. "You will return to your ship immediately. Captain Halloway is among the seriously wounded. You will assume command and withdraw to Lya Station Alpha to tend to the wounded and for repairs."

Riker exploded. "How could the Maquis successfully attack a galaxy class starship? They don't have that kind of weaponry!"

Admiral Nakamura spoke up. "Apparently, they do. A ship bearing Klingon trade registry codes approached the Barton. At the right moment, this ship called the Galen, dropped her shields and fired off a quantum torpedo."

"The Maquis have quantum torpedoes?" Worf could not believe what he was hearing. "That is a major security breech!"

"The Galen?" a scared Beverly whispered to herself, mutely looking toward her lover for an explanation.

"Impossible!" was Picard's immediate response.

Worf didn't notice the by-play between his two former officers. Instead, he spoke out. "Admirals, request permission to lead the investigation into how the Maquis has managed to get such weaponry. If there are traitors, I will find them!"

Admiral Blackwell nodded. "Agreed." She looked over at Picard. "Mr. Picard's report on the trading climate of Thelka II is the place where you should start."

"Admiral Blackwell, request permission to review the tapes of the attack," Jean-Luc firmly asked. "I might be able to help." He ignored Admiral Nechayev's silent protest over his words.

"Were any civilians injured?"

"No." Kennelly glanced at Nechayev and started speculating. "Are you now requesting a return to duty, Captain?" Admiral Kennelly added, enjoying interfering with Admiral Nechayev's machinations. The fact that Kennelly was still an admiral had been a surprise to some who had thought that his actions with the Cardassians over the attack at Solarion IV should have been enough to end his career. But thanks to the Borg, senior officers, even marginally competent ones, stood a better chance to keep their careers since there literally was no one to take their place.

"If that is what I must do in order to help Starfleet," Picard answered Kennelly's question.

Data approached Admiral Blackwell. "May I offer my services? I already have a working hypothesis. However, I do not wish to return to Starfleet duty at the present time. My human emotions program is not yet ready."

Blackwell agreed. "Mr. Data, as a civilian consultant, please work with Mr. Worf. We have to find the source of these weapons and stop them, otherwise no Starfleet ship will be safe."

Captain Jellico approached, imperiously ordering, "Worf. Data. You're with me."

Worf stared at Jellico. He had not forgiven the man for the way he'd handled the Cardassian kidnapping of Picard. "I am assigned to Captain Riker's staff."

But Riker wasn't paying attention to Worf's contretemps. Instead, he was watching the silent interplay between Beverly and Jean-Luc as the name Galen played around in his head. Beverly was upset. And he knew the good doctor well enough to know that it wasn't just because of the news of what had happened to her ship.

There was something in her eyes - a knowledge of something that chilled Riker's heart. He tried to focus on what Worf was saying. "Commander Worf, for the moment, work with Mr. Data and Captain Jellico. But report back to me."

Jellico nodded in acceptance of Riker's words, somewhat surprised that Riker hadn't even offered a glare of protest over his own highhandedness.

After the other admirals left, Nechayev nodded at Picard and ordered, "Come with me."

Sending an apologetic look toward Beverly, Picard followed Nechayev.

A few minutes later, Riker went after Beverly. He found her alone, in the quarters she was sharing with Picard.

"Beverly."

She had ignored him when he'd come after her. Instead, she was concentrating on packing.

"Beverly."

This time, when he repeated her name, he spoke as a Starfleet officer.

"The Galen!"

She shook her head in denial. "It's a coincidence, Will. Nothing more." She turned and faced him, dropping her coat onto the bed. "You cannot seriously believe Jean-Luc would have anything to do with the Maquis?"

"I'd believe you Beverly, if you believed in what you are saying."

"You don't know what you are saying, Will!"

"You have to ask him, Beverly."

"No! I WILL NOT ASK Jean-Luc Picard if he has betrayed the Federation!"

"That's not what I am saying!"

"Isn't it?"

They glared at each other.

Will stomped about, his long legs covering the space of the small guest quarters rather quickly. "You'd better be right, Doctor!"

She dodged his path, grabbing his arm. "Will! What are you going to do? You're not going to go after him, are you?"

He froze for a moment, not trusting himself to speak. Then he faced her, lifting her hand off of his forearm, and squeezed it for a brief second before he let her go.

"No. I'll protect Jean-Luc Picard to the best of my ability. But, I will have Data investigate. If we have these suspicions, others in Starfleet may as well. And I think that Jean-Luc Picard would prefer the scrutiny of his friends, at the moment."

"Thank you, Will." She released a deep sigh as if she were free to breathe normally again.

"Only thank me Beverly, after you tell me the truth."

"What do you mean?" She turned away from him, trying to disguise what she feared.

"There is something - I saw it in that look you gave Jean-Luc. What do you suspect, Beverly?"

"You saw nothing!"

"What is it, Captain Crusher? What do you know?" He seized her shoulders. "TELL ME!"

She shook herself loose from his grip. "Jean-Luc - when he was telling me about his time with Ro Laren. There was a moment when I thought that he was also speaking of a ship - other than the Vorlo vessel. Nothing more."

"You have to ask him, Beverly. You can't really expect me, much less Starfleet, to believe that a Klingon Maquis ship was named after a dead Federation archaeology professor."

"Richard Galen spent some time with Klingons, Will. Maybe there is a Klingon who was choosing to honor him?"

"Or maybe it was a Starfleet captain."

=/\= =/\= =/\=

"Jean-Luc."

Admiral Nechayev motioned towards a seat on her inner-office's dark grey sofa. After he sat down, she handed him a brandy snifter and joined him as well. "Captain." She amended herself, slightly smiling.

"Alynna. Admiral." He took a sip of his brandy. "Napoleon. Quite smooth."

"Thank you, Jean-Luc." She tasted her liquor, and then put the glass down on a steel side table with a decided clank. "You should not have so readily agreed to Admiral Kennelly's suggestion. The admiralty board is meeting in fifty hours. Your promotion would have been confirmed by then. Now, others will feel that they have a right to interfere with our plans."

"You won't let anyone interfere, will you Alynna?"

"No, Jean-Luc. You may proceed." She glanced over at a clock on her desk. "Beverly's transport ship to the Barton is due to leave in fifty minutes. After this mess is straightened out, I will assist you in whatever posting and living arrangements you and the lovely Doctor wish to make. Now, go and say your goodbyes. And tell her that you will see her soon. Then report back to me at 1900. Dismissed."

Jean-Luc found Beverly in their quarters, her bags placed by the door.

"Beverly? He stepped into the darkened outer room, looked about and then went into the bedroom.

"Here."

He turned and found her sitting in the shadows, wearing her duty uniform. He stood in front of her, mentally debating what he should be telling her. "Alynna Nechayev has assigned me to her staff. I'll stay with her though she has promised to post me as close to you as possible. Once this matter is settled, we can decide what we are personally going to do."

"And can this matter be really settled?"

He did not know how to interpret her mood, but he suspected that he knew at least one possible source of discord.

"Do you think that I have joined the Maquis?"

"No. Of course not. But I hate the fact that part of me even thinks it - much less feels that there is a reason to think it." She stood and hugged him for a moment, relishing the feel of his body pressed against her own. She couldn't help but wonder how many more times she would have him all to herself like this, in the future. Holding him, she bravely whispered, "Why was that ship named the Galen?"

She feared his answer…

"If it is the ship I believe it to be, I named her." He felt her stiffen but still she held him in her arms.

"How?"

"On Thelka II, Ro Laren and I bought a fast ship to use as a possible escape vessel from Ragner after we'd rescued Mela. I obtained Klingon registry for the ship - don't ask me how. I do not know that this is the same ship, Beverly. The one that Ro Laren took has a cloaking device. If the Maquis were going to go against a Starfleet convoy and a galaxy class ship, surely they would have used it? But this ship didn't."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I. For one thing, if this is the same ship, Ro Laren broke her word to me. She promised that she'd never use my ship against Starfleet."

"And you would accept Ro Laren's word after all that she has done?"

"On this matter, yes." He kissed her briefly, hard, memorizing her taste. A sense of change was flowing through his veins. This instinctual knowledge was coursing into his consciousness as well. "Someone else must have gotten the codes. I will ask Data to investigate."

"And if it is Ro Laren?"

Instead of answering her, he kissed her again. He brushed his fingers through her hair, taking down a few strands as he did so. He played with their silken flow for a moment. Then he cupped her head, slowly grazing his thumb against the velvet of her cheek. "We will abide." And then he let her go.

This time it was her turn to kiss him goodbye. "Come with me to the transporter room?"

"Damn." And then he chuckled.

"What?"

"I'm a Starfleet captain again. I cannot kiss you in public when I feel so inclined."

She eyed his dark grey silk shirt and dress slacks. "You're not dressed in your uniform…"

He ruefully smiled. "But I would know." Picking up her bags, they slowly walked down the long corridors toward the transporter room. Almost there, Worf interrupted them.

"Captains," he formally greeted, then announced to Beverly, "Your departure has been delayed, Captain Crusher. If you would please proceed to the command officer's waiting lounge, you will be informed of the changes." He looked at Picard. "Captain Picard, come with me."

Something in Worf's manner sent a frisson of fear down Beverly's back. She studied Worf trying to peer behind his unyielding Klingon demeanor. He looked quite formidable at the moment. Her dread grew.

"What is it, Worf? What's wrong?"

"Captain, please do as you are told."

Picard would have reacted to Worf's heavy-handed behavior except that he too, sensed something in the Klingon's manner that was out-of-the-ordinary. "Captain Crusher is correct, Commander Worf. What is wrong?"

"Captain, you are to come with me. Now."

Worf's very insistence solidified Beverly's concerns. She was about to protest when Worf looked at her, whispering, "Beverly, please. We have little time."

Beverly nodded. "Of course, Worf." She took her bags from Jean-Luc and was about to walk away from them.

"Doctor." The way Worf said her name stopped her instantly. "You had best say goodbye."

She dropped her bags and kissed Jean-Luc with all that was in her heart. A few moments later, Worf pulled her away from Jean-Luc.

"Mev! Now!" He jammed Beverly's two bags into her arms, and shoved her in the direction of the door to the corridor for the waiting rooms.

Not even bothering to see if Beverly was leaving, Worf gripped Jean-Luc's arm and moved him down the corridor, effectively forcing the captain to follow. When Beverly was out of sight, Jean-Luc stopped moving.

"Explanations, now. Commander."

"You are my cha'DIch." Worf said this as if it explained everything. When Picard still wouldn't respond, he added, "Please, Captain. Mr. Data said that you must do this now."

Unsaid were words such as your life depends on it, but the implication was there. Picard nodded and accompanied Worf. Picard realized as they walked, that they were taking the lesser traveled corridors along a circuitous route. More puzzled with each passing step, he followed his Klingon warrior, walking toward his destiny.

They walked for a while until they reached a cargo transporter room. It was empty.

The moment the door slid shut, Picard turned on Worf. "Commander, what is going on?"

"The Hegh'ta is waiting. Once you are on board her, the ship will leave and go to the Klingon Empire. Gowron and my brother will protect you until matters are decided."

"Worf - what matters?"

Worf didn't respond. Instead, he looked expectantly at the door.

On another deck, Beverly paced back and forth in the small grey colored waiting room that was by the transporter room.

"Beverly."

She whirled about when she heard Will's voice. "Will. What is going on?"

"Where's Captain Picard?"

She paused, looking at her friend, and experienced fear. There was an expression on Will's face that she had never seen before - not even when he'd been battling the Borg.

"What is it, Will?"

"WHERE'S PICARD?" He practically roared the question, grabbing at her shoulders, shaking her.

"I don't know. He went off with Worf."

Still holding her, Riker hit his comm badge. "Computer, location of Commander Worf."

"Unknown. His badge has been reported as malfunctioning."

"Computer, scan for Klingon life forms in this section of the station. How many readings?"

"Two."

"Location?"

"One is in Holodeck 59 on Deck 187. One is in the Beta cargo transporter room on Deck 3, Section 42.

A grimly determined Will Riker half-ran to the exit with Beverly chasing after him, leaving her bags behind. Whatever was going on concerning Captain Picard, she was going to be a part of it.

Racing down the corridors, Riker and Crusher reached the cargo transporter room almost together. Riker burst into the room.

Even as Worf and Picard were reacting to his entrance, Riker did the unthinkable. He dove at Jean-Luc Picard. For a brief instant, Picard saw something flash across Will's face. - a look of hatred that was stunningly pure and intense. Distracted, Picard didn't comprehend Riker's actions until it was too late. Riker swung with an energy powered by rage, hitting his former captain directly on the jaw, slamming Picard so hard that Picard bounced backwards against a wall. And then he collapsed to the floor.

"DAMN YOU, PICARD! THEY WERE ONLY KIDS! YOU KILLED THEM!"

A phaser blast from behind felled Riker before he could swing again at the captain that had once called him Number One.

"Captain Riker is only stunned." The imperturbable voice of Mr. Data announced as the android entered the cargo room, physically locking the door behind him.

Beverly knelt by Will, checking his pulse, restraining her gut impulse to become hysterical and scream her head off. "What is going on?" She blindly reached for her comm badge when Data grabbed it off of her uniform.

"No, Doctor. Do not summon help just yet. I used the minimum setting of the phaser. Commander Riker should be regaining consciousness shortly."

Speaking to Worf, Data explained, "I have arranged for the monitoring devices to malfunction. You have four minutes forty seconds before this problem is noticed."

Data picked Picard up from off of the floor, checked to see if anything was broken, and then handed him some information chips. "I have alerted the Ferengi bankers that you will be handling your own accounts, Captain. I will transfer all invested monies into the liquid assets accounts within the next twenty-eight hours. Any Ferengi banker and their connections will be able to provide you with credits." He brushed Picard off. "You must leave within six minutes. Gowron has granted you sanctuary."

Jean-Luc let Beverly fuss over his jaw for a few seconds. "What set Will off?"

Data answered the question. "I have uncovered evidence that you purchased two quantum torpedoes on Thelka, Captain. One you disabled. The other, the attackers have possibly obtained   
and used against the Barton. And then the raiders destroyed the skeeter escort ships. When I informed Captain Riker of this fact, he became quite upset and started searching for you.

Picard blanched. "I disarmed that torpedo. There should not have been any way for the Maquis to fire it without my new command codes."

"The evidence is circumstantial, Captain, but it also quite damning. Admiral Kennelly was already requesting your arrest even before I had uncovered any factual information. He must have   
been monitoring the progress of my investigation. Admiral Kennelly then issued the arrest warrants and gave them to Captain Jellico. Captain Jellico did protest that there was insufficient evidence..."

Worf stepped forward and interrupted Data. "You must leave in order to be free to fight for your honor, Captain. If Captain Riker does not have me arrested, I will not rest until your   
innocence is proven. Your enemies will not destroy you."

Picard put his hand on Worf's shoulder, accepting Worf's vow. But he had to know. "Do you think I've become Maquis, Worf?"

Worf was steadfast in his belief of Picard's honor. "If you have become Maquis, Captain, you would have spoken of it. You would not hide this fact and betray Starfleet."

"And if I had really become Maquis?"

"You are a man of honor, of great conscience. My loyalty would remain pledged to you, Captain Picard. If I have to resign my commission, then it will be done." He glanced down at the still unconscious Will Riker. "And then, my loyalty is to Will Riker. He acted in anger against you. He will thank me for what I did when his blood cools and he begins to think with a clear mind again. He will then know then that you are not a traitor."

"Maybe I am, Worf. If the quantum torpedo that was used on the Barton really is the one that I purchased on Thelka II, then it was my responsibility to see that it did not fall into the wrong hands. If I failed, then I am responsible for the deaths of those officers."

"Not in your heart, Jean-Luc Picard. The Nuch! that fired the torpedo is the only dishonorable one responsible." He clasped Picard's forearm in a Klingon salute.

"Captain, you have three minutes, ten seconds before you must depart," Data coolly announced. "I will dedicate myself to clearing your name, Captain. As a civilian, I will have options that a Starfleet officer will not."

"Understood, Mr. Data. I am sorry that you are having to deal with this. You should have much better things to do…"

"Actually, Captain, proving your innocence is part of my program to learn how to cope with my emotions."

"Really?" Even under the direst of circumstances, Data could still surprise Picard.

"Yes, Captain. After all, is not embarking on a most impossible quest part of the human endeavor? I shall make your truth my Holy Grail."

"Please don't suggest that the odds of clearing my name is akin to those of finding the Holy Grail…"

"Actually, sir, your odds are greater." A little snip of a smile crossed over Data's lips.

Another time, Jean-Luc would have enjoyed continuing this discussion, but right now, there simply wasn't enough time. "Data, I look forward to the day when I can converse with you in the future. I trust though, that this quest will not be too impossible."

Data would have continued this conversation except that he noticed that Captain Picard was no longer paying attention to him. Instead, the captain was enfolding Beverly in his arms. So Data stopped talking.

Jean-Luc could not kiss away all of her tears. Unlike their earlier farewells, both knew that this time could truly be the last time that they ever saw each other. "Beverly, promise me one thing."

"Anything, Jean-Luc," she said in a voice that was not quite a sob, but those around her knew how very close to breaking she was.

"Beverly, this matter - it will either be resolved very quickly, or will not be settled at all. If the latter should occur, you must not wait for me. You - your work - is too important to be destroyed by an association with me."

She blindly reacted to his words, choosing not to think for the moment. Instead, she asked, "Where will you go?"

"I may not be Maquis, but that doesn't mean that I cannot find refuge on one of their worlds. Perhaps I will become a teacher after all." He pressed a kiss against her lips. Then spoke with utter seriousness. "I need your promise, Beverly. I will know no peace if I think that you are senselessly worrying about me."

"I will always worry about you, Jean-Luc." But she knew what he meant. "If I deem the situation to be truly hopeless," she leaned closer to him and then threatened, "I'll quit Starfleet and then make you pay. Will that do for my promise?"

"Beverly…" He knew that she meant every word. She would sacrifice herself for him. "Do not. I could not accept such a decision. Grant me this peace, at least."

She nodded, her forehead resting against his, as she understood that he was asking for, indeed needing, her release. "Yes, Jean-Luc. As you wish." But she would not hide the sorrow in her gaze. She couldn't bear to lose him.

"Captain Picard, you must leave in one minute, thirty seconds," Data quietly intoned.

"I love you more that truth or duty or honor." His lips were soft against her mouth as he whispered his heart's truth. Her lips trembled against his, as the sudden realization that this was their last kiss created a spiraling devastation within both their hearts.

"Beverly... Je t'aime… Je vous adore… Take care, mon coeur."

"Jean-Luc..." She couldn't say the words.

He understood, and then smiled. "I know."

Jean-Luc stepped back and looked at Data. "Worf, Beverly - please leave. I must speak with Data and it is best that you not hear my words."

"Jean-Luc…" she almost protested. But then, she acquiesced. Silently, they left with Beverly pausing, turning to look at him one more time before she stepped through the door. "Goodbye," she whispered. Her heart was breaking.

He finalized arrangements for communicating with Data. Then Worf returned. Before Picard could say goodbye, Worf swung, connecting with the bruise that was already beginning to form on Jean-Luc's jaw. Picard slumped to the deck.

"Commander Worf, why did you strike the Captain?" Data was quite curious as to Worf's motives.

"It is the honorable thing to do so that we can speak this truth. Captain Picard did not willingly leave to avoid arrest."

Moments later, Picard was beamed over to the Hegh'ta which then did a Klingon skedaddle out of Federation space.

Hours later, Worf, Beverly, Data Deanna and Will were being interrogated by Admirals Kennelly, Nakamura, Nechayev and Blackwell. Captain Jellico was asking the questions.  
"When Data informed me of the source for the quantum torpedo that killed my cadets, I went in search of Captain Picard," Will Riker patiently explained for the second time. "I was angry. I lost my temper. I struck my former captain."

"You blame Captain Picard for the death of your cadets?"

"Yes, Captain Jellico. I do. Picard purchased a quantum torpedo that either fell into the hands of the Maquis, or was given to them. After everything else that I learned today, I suspect that this was not an accident."

"Who shot you?"

Jellico nervously paced about, his jerky movements betraying his mixed feelings over Captain Riker's statements. On one hand, Jellico was pleased that his suspicions about Jean-Luc Picard were finally being confirmed. But on the other side, there was the fact that Will Riker was the one doing the talking. And Jellico could not forgive or forget his dislike and mistrust of this officer.

"I don't know. After I hit Picard, the momentum of my blow caused my body to swing around. I was then shot in the back. Picard probably did it then."

"You don't know for sure, Captain?"

"Hell, when I got hit by the phaser blast, I didn't know anything past the pain, Captain Jellico. And then I was unconscious, so I saw and heard nothing more."

Jellico turned on Worf. "And you, Commander Worf. Did you shoot Captain Riker?"

"No, Sir."

"What happened?"

"I was defending my captain. I did not see who fired."

Jellico wanted to probe further but there was something about Worf, the way that he was sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, that indicated his Klingon would not have his word questioned by anyone. Instead, Jellico focused on another area.

"According to his earlier statement, Captain Riker said that he could not reach you. That your comm badge was malfunctioning."

"Yes."

"Was this part of some plot to assist Captain Picard in his escape, Commander Worf?"

"No. Captain Picard did not willingly leave Utopia Planetia."

"So your broken comm badge was just a propitious coincidence?"

"Yes."

"Explain, Commander."

"My mother-in-law…" Worf mumbled, sounding embarrassed.

"What did you say, Commander?"

"My wife's mother, Ambassador Lwaxana Troi of Betazed. She broke my comm badge."

"Why?"

"It kept beeping during our meal. She… did not care for the sound." He apologetically looked over at Deanna. "My mother-in-law said that the noise was upsetting my wife."

"What, Commander?" Captain Jellico sounded quite incredulous. Of course, he had yet to meet Lwaxana Troi. "What did she do?"

"When I was summoned, she ordered her servant Mr. Homm, to bang my comm badge with the mallet that he uses during the thanksgiving gonging for the Betazed food ritual."

"And you permitted this?"

"A Klingon warrior does not quarrel with his mother-in-law's employees, regardless of the temptation. It would not be honorable or dignified." Worf did not add that this was also Lwaxana's bright idea to disable his comm badge in such a manner.

"And then what happened?"

"I met Captain Picard, went to the cargo bay to receive a delivery from the Hegh'ta, tried to prevent Captain Riker from getting hurt, and then saw Captain Picard beamed off the transporter platform."

"You don't know who transported him away?"

"Captain Jellico…"

"If I may interrupt," Data interjected. "The console was set for automatic beam-out. I have ascertained that it was programmed that way for several deliveries during the transporting to the Hegh'ta. It is possible that somehow during the melee, the console was activated."

Jellico faced Data who was unperturbedly looking back at him. "And you expect me to believe this?"

"Captain Jellico!" Riker objected. "All of this concern with minutiae is resolving nothing. Picard has escaped. My cadets are dead. I want permission to go after him and get some answers. We are wasting time." Riker was the very image of a truth-seeking Starfleet officer out for vengeance.

Captain Jellico looked over at Dr. Crusher who had remained quiet during all of this interviewing. "And have you anything to add, Captain Crusher? Considering your relationship with Captain Picard, are you surprised by what happened?"

Beverly stood, anger fueling her righteous indignation. "I refuse to believe that Jean-Luc Picard is a Maquis traitor. If he wanted to join the Maquis, he would have done so openly. He would not have acted against the Federation." She looked at Will. "Captain Riker, Jean-Luc respected and honored you. He considered you to be a friend. He did not kill those cadets. How can you even think that he could be involved?"

"Doctor, you are not answering my question."

"All I know, Captain Jellico, is that you are blaming a man who is innocent for a crime that he did not commit. Shame on any of you who are dismissing Jean-Luc Picard and his years of loyal service and sacrifice to Starfleet for so weak an excuse as possible involvement with the Maquis." She pointedly stared down as every admiral seated about the table. "There isn't a person in this room who does not know someone who has left the Federation and joined the Maquis. Are we all to be condemned simply because of a prior association?"

"And what about Ro Laren? Did Jean-Luc tell you what happened with her?"

Beverly calmly stared back at Jellico. "If you ever catch and keep Ro Laren, why don't you ask her about her relationship with Captain Picard?"

"This is going nowhere," Jellico grumbled, frustrated by the seeming lack of information that all of these friends of Picard were displaying. Jellico glared at Counselor Troi. "And I suppose that you were with your mother while all of this was going on?"

Curls bounced as Deanna woefully shook her head. "My Mother has not been willing to let me out of her sight…There is nothing left to tell."

"I'm not going to get anything more substantive out of all of you, am I?" Jellico muttered to himself.

Data heard him. So he stood. "That is a correct assessment, Captain Jellico." He looked over at Captain Riker. "I shall continue my investigation with your assistance, Captain, as well as   
working with Commander Worf." Data walked over to the door and stood under the doorjamb. "Are we dismissed, Admiral Nechayev?"

"Dismissed." She spoke quickly lest someone contradict her. No one dared.

In the corridor, the five former line command officers awkwardly looked at each other with only Worf seeming at ease with the situation.

"Captain Riker," Worf began.

Riker interrupted him. "Where can we speak in private, Data?"

Data let them to a conference room, keyed some instructions on the comm panel by the door, and then entered the room, scanning the interior with his tricorder. "We may speak freely in here, Captain Riker."

"Captain Riker, I will not be able to serve under your command if you truly believe that my cha'DIch is a traitor to Starfleet."

"Worf," Deanna warned, sensing how close to being overwhelmed by the day’s events was her Husband Number Two.

Riker ignored Worf. Instead, he beamed one of his better ‘have I gotten away with something! Little Boy’ smiles directly at Beverly. "Thanks for the acting lessons, Beverly. Think I show any promise?"

Beverly relaxed, weakly slumping onto a chair. "Will…" She shook her head in relief.

"Captain!" Worf protested.

"I believe that Captain Riker has resorted to some subterfuge," Data calmly explained. Then he too smiled, regrettably trying to copy Will's current smile. He didn't succeed. "Way to go, Will!"

Worf ignored Data. "Captain, you hit Captain Picard with anger! A Klingon knows when there is fire in the blood."

"Yeah, I was angry. But then someone who is lucky that he is not an active Starfleet officer at the moment, otherwise I'd be forced to court martial him, blasted some sense into me. I knew then that I had made a mistake."

"Then, why?" Worf wondered.

"Someone has to work with the enemy, Worf. How else are we going to know what is going on? Besides, if we all appeared to be unreservedly supporting Jean-Luc Picard, all of our reports would be suspect.

"You will spy?" Worf did not care for the word.

"I think I'd rather call it guile, Worf." And then Riker grinned again.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Jean-Luc rolled over. This was a mistake. The narrow hammock that was his resting place, swung back and forth, bouncing him against two of the greasy bulkheads that formed part of his narrow cabin on board the Ferengi cargo ship, the Kago. He groaned as his muscles protested further mistreatment. There was no ministering flame-haired angel on board this cargo vessel. 

Looking about the cabin, Picard was almost nostalgic about his former quarters on board the Unk. Those were spacious in comparison.

He'd been traveling ever since his ignominious departure from Utopia Planetia.

"From almost an admiral to Starfleet's most wanted fugitive in only one day," he mused as he rubbed the fading bruises on his jaw. Riker was going to have to work out more intensely if he ever hoped to pack the wallop that their mutual Klingon friend had in his punch.

He didn't remember much about being on board the Hegh'ta. He'd been pretty groggy when they'd transported him over to the Kago. Though he didn't have his exact location, Picard had a feeling that they would soon be approaching the no man's space that the Maquis controlled.

A Ferengi that Picard knew as Birk, stood in the small cabin's hatchway. He had not bothered to knock before opening up the door.

"Captain Picard, your sssship is here," the Ferengi lisped.

Wondering what Birk meant by ship, Picard carefully slipped off of his swaying hammock and stood, pressing the webbed open fabric against a bulkhead in order to stand. "What ship?"

"Your ship," the Ferengi patiently stated, wondering if this Hu-man was as addled as the rest of them. The Ferengis on board the Kago had been treating this Hu-man with respect ever since they'd learned of Picard's bank accounts within the Ferengi systems, as well as the fact that not once, but twice, Picard had forced the Ferengi government to pay him restitution money - a very rare feat indeed. This Hu-man might be worthy of respect.

Following after Birk, Picard wondered what he was facing now. He was still dressed in the clothes he'd been wearing on board the space station. He hadn't seen a shower - sonic or water - since then either, since cleanliness was not high on the list of daily necessities for either the Klingons or the Ferengi.

"There is a messssage for you," Birk said.

A moment later in a cramped ward room, Picard received his message on a view screen.

"DaiMon Behlk," Picard respectfully said.

"Captain Picard," the Ferengi banker deferentially replied. "I have a message for you - the raiders who attacked your hospital convoy did not use your ship. My late ex-associate sold some information."

"You have proof of this?" Picard didn't ask who had sent the message. He could guess.

"It will be provided. You will be rendezvousing soon with the source. I trust that we will be involved with profitable dealings again, quite soon. Your ever loyal servant…"

An hour later, Picard found himself beaming aboard the Galen. Standing on the transporter platform, he looked about, expecting to see her. She wasn't in sight.

An unknown Bajoran middle-aged female approached him. "I am Ara. Captain Ro…"

Picard hid his amusement at Ro's promotion.

"…will be joining us shortly. She had business with the Ferengis." The woman wrinkled her nose, sniffing the air. "You smell as if you have slept with the Ferengis."

"And Klingons…" Picard added under his breath. "I'm going to clean up. Ask Captain Ro to join me at her earliest convenience."

"The ship is on autopilot. I will be leaving now. Please beam me over."

The first thing Picard did was to check all of the ship's systems. Then he pulled up whatever news broadcasts he could monitor. He wasn't that surprised to see the news headlines proclaiming him to be a wanted suspect accused of murder, piracy and betraying the Federation. One commentator even went so far as to say what could you expect of the man who was Locutus of Borg…

Thirty minutes later, when Ro still hadn't shown up, and after having showered and eaten his first hot, edible meal in days, Picard succumbed to his exhaustion and collapsed on his very big bed. He was tired in body and weary in soul.

The method of her attack was unmistakably Ro Laren's. His body was being most pleasurably assaulted. Unlike previous encounters, he tried to resist her, while memories of Beverly were still fresh in his heart.

"Don't worry, Captain," she whispered, rubbing her breasts against his silk-clad chest. She was doing her damnedest to arouse him.

"I have messages for you. From Data: no status change. Will Riker hopes that one day soon, you'll be able to press charges against him. Guinan said something about seeing you in the future."

"Guinan?" That message was unexpected.

"Yes, something about the Fates... What about you?" When it became apparent to Ro that he was not willing to play with her at the moment, she slid off of him and put on a green robe. "Will you admit at last, that it is time for you to join the Maquis?"

"I will not become Maquis," he warned. On her questioning look he added, "But I will consider it," he conceded.

"Or, you could become a pirate," Ro suggested, sitting on the bed, fondly gazing down at him. Up until a few days ago, she had sort of believed that she would never ever see him again. Or have a chance to experience such intimate associations again. "I hear that there is a Vorlo ship available."

His voice was stern. "I will not become a pirate. Or willingly work with Vorlos again."

She kissed the tip of his nose. "Pity. I hear that Ragner is willing to make you a most generous offer if you would only become his Ferengi front man."

Relaxing a bit, but still keeping her at arm's length, he stated, "I will, however, consider referring to myself an entrepreneur." He offered her a welcoming ‘I am glad to see you’ kind of smile. 

"I take it that you've made your peace with Captain Ragner?"

"We've reached an agreement. And it didn't even cost me that much."

He sat up and rested against the bulkhead when Ro reached over and handed him a cup of tea. He suddenly realized that she had not expected to seduce him right away for the tea was still hot. "And what of you? What have you been doing? And what is going on?"

After explaining for almost ten minutes, Laren remarked, "Now that your immediate future is settled, I have another message for you."

"And that is?" He was wary about this communication, considering the way that Ro was devilishly grinning over at him.

"Beverly sends her love."

He blinked. And then wondered why he always found himself bedeviled with outrageous women.

He waited. "And?"

"And she specifically asks me to take care of you. Friend to friend." She knew what the look he gave her meant. He was shocked by her words and questioning the veracity of them. "Don't look like that, Jean-Luc."

"And how would you have me look, Laren? I am not mistrusting your words - I am just surprised by them." He tried to change the direction of their talk. "You owe me proof of your innocence in the attack on the Barton."

"I thought that you had accepted my word?"

"Actually I do." Unexpectedly, he smiled.

She understood his words for what they were worth. "You already checked the armory and found your quantum torpedo, didn't you?"

"We'll discuss this."

"Later?" she hinted, sliding closer to him.

He reached over and placed his hand on her arm, pausing her movements. "No. This situation isn't fair for you."

"Or for you and Beverly, correct?"

"I will not apologize for loving Beverly."

"But you may never see her again if things don't work out. You'll be stuck with me."

"That is not the way I would have phrased it, Ro Laren." He tried not to sound too confounded by the unexpected recent turns in his life and plans.

Laren leaned over, capturing his face between her hands. She kissed him. "I made a deal with Beverly." She ignored his sudden nervousness.

"What?"

"Beverly gets your tomorrows." Ro's smile turned sinful. "But me, I'll settle for your tonights."

The End

(For Now…)

A.N.: the GEN sequel THE SKY IS THE LIMIT, I will start posting on AO3 very soon. The adult version is also available.


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